


With You/Without You

by EllaPreuss, themachine



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst with a Happy Ending, But will turn a little OOC at times, DJ!Sam, Don't say I didn't warn you, Drama, F/F, Roommates, They'll be as IC as possible, photographer/hacker!Root
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2016-11-08
Packaged: 2018-07-12 18:59:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 48,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7118560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllaPreuss/pseuds/EllaPreuss, https://archiveofourown.org/users/themachine/pseuds/themachine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Grace, Joss and Sameen need a new roommate to share expenses, it's Sam the one who has to give up part of her room to a complete stranger. Which totally sucks.<br/>Their new roomie Root seems to be leading a secret life, and yet Sameen can't seem to find her anything but interesting.<br/>Sparks fly between them when they meet, igniting a fire inside them that could end up consuming them both. It's up to them to decide if they let it burn them.</p><p>[Written Chapters + Social Media Graphics Chapters]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. ONE

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, my beautiful people! I hope you guys are well :) I started this AU right after watching the disaster that was 5x10, and it quickly became the centre of my focus. I'm writing it everyday, so I'll be updating weekly (to the best of my abilities). This will be a Transmedia fic, which means I'm working on Social Media add-ons to go with the story, as well as different playlists for the different moods/characters, with the help of my friend Mars. And basically, anything that comes to mind. I *will* drag the girls through the mud, but fear not! I've outlined a happy ending for them to make up for what was denied to them and us.

 

“Please tell me that this brownie is making me hallucinate and that you did not just say that we need a new roommate.”

Come on. A stranger sharing _their_ space? The apartment they've been living in for the past two years? The mere thought of it is enough to make Sameen groan, pinching the bridge of her nose in exasperation.

“Can't we just, I don't know, get another job to cover rent on our own?”

The cool September air rushes into the coffee shop where Sameen and her friends are when a new patron opens the door behind them. Warmth, sweet smells and a cacophony of voices fill the place to the brim, but even these little things Sam's so used to can't manage to put her out of her foul mood.

Sitting beside her, Joss Carter, best friend extraordinaire, scoffs in indignation. “Girl, you crazy?” she asks, turning her body to face Sameen. “We already work part time _and_ go to school. We barely have time to ourselves. I don't wanna live worrying about whether or not we'll make rent next month.”

“She's right, Shaw,” says Grace, shrugging, her big green eyes a stark contrast to her lovely red hair. “We need to bring someone else in.” Her hands wring the apron she's wearing, the logo of the coffee shop embroidered on its chest.

“But there's _no room_ ,” Sam grits out. She looks pointedly at Grace, but her friend knows her enough not to cringe under her hard stare. “What are we gonna do? Put a partition in the living room and have whoever moves in live there?”

Grace and Joss look at each other, raising their eyebrows in perfect unison. Sam looks from one to the other, expectant. You can almost see the smoke escaping from her nostrils as Joss holds her gaze, lifting a single, perfectly shaped eyebrow.

“We _have_ the room,” Joss says and it's everything Sam feared.

Because she knows that what she's actually saying is _you have room, you know, in the bedroom you have to your freaking self_. Sam just refuses to believe that this is her only option. She can't back down. So she crosses her arms over her chest, lifts her chin.

She purses her mouth as she thinks. “Where would we put the other bed?” she says. Surely this will be enough to change their minds because her room is so full of shit, they couldn't possibly expect her to add more to it.

“Most of what's in your room is ours,” Grace quips in, “so we were thinking we could have a garage sale to make some money and just give away what doesn't get sold.”

Sam straightens up at this piece of news. Frowning, she says, “And your paintings? You're willing to sell those too?”

Grace bites her lower lip, a sign that tells Sam she’s already thought this through. “I guess,” she says. Her spine straightens up. She stops playing with the hem of her apron and rests the tips of her fingers, paint still clinging to her nail beds, on the edge of the table. “They’re just gathering dust in there. They deserve to be up on someone’s walls.”

“Damn right,” Joss says.

Sameen closes her eyes, her jaw working, and inhales deeply, loudly, sensing her friends’ eyes on her. “But I need the space for my shit. The living room’s already full of Grace’s easels, your books,” she says, turning to Joss. “You won’t let me leave my fitness balls lying around, so I have to stack them against _your_ shit in _my_ room. What do you want me to do? I can’t sell my gear, I need it for school.”

“We’ll help you organise it, Shaw,” says Grace. “This doesn’t have to be as terrible as you’re making it out to be. You could end up having a super nice roommate, you know.”

Grace’s eyes light up at the idea of this cool, imaginary new roomie and Sam doesn’t have the guts to burst her bubble. Joss just sips her coffee, a forearm casually resting on the chair’s back. This battle is lost, Sameen knows it, and she knows better than to waste her energies arguing when these two have so clearly decided to gang up on her this way.

It’s just… her, having to sleep beside someone else? What the fuck is that, honestly.

 

They spend a week helping Sam reorganise her room, cleaning where they couldn't reach before when paintings and boxes full of stuff they don't need anymore cluttered the space. Old books and clothes get sold, as well as some of Grace’s paintings. They take some pictures of the room and post them online.

Almost immediately, the girls get a shitload of replies on their Craigslist ad. They agree to meet the potential candidates at the coffee shop where Grace works, that same weekend. That way the three of them can be there to screen the girls that show up.

Sameen is forced to accept that the room does look better than it's ever been, even with the new bed they borrowed from Lionel’s parents tucked away on the left side corner. She's pretty sure she'll despise anyone they choose, and she's already looking forward to get this over with.

 

Saturday arrives with a downpour of rain, crazy winds that mess up Joss’s hair, but not Sam's. Her long hair rests in its usual low ponytail, curling at the edges from the humidity. Grace greets them when they step into the coffee shop and make their way to their usual table. She talks to her manager, a woman named Zoe, who nods at the girls when Grace points at them.

Sameen takes off her long overcoat and scarf, both black, and sets them on the back of her chair. She sits with her back to the front door, as usual, crossing her jean-clad legs and settling in. Letting the familiar atmosphere surrounding her envelop her. She's unzipping her navy blue hoodie when Grace walks towards them, a tray with mugs balanced on her hand.

“It's almost ten,” she says, glancing at a clock on the wall. “The first one should be here soon.”

Joss takes her black coffee and her cinnamon bun from Grace's tray as Grace hands Sameen hers, a big mug of coffee with just a lick of milk. Grace's Chai tea releases a spicy scent that adds to the shop's aromas very nicely. She leaves a banana muffin in front of Sam, who takes a huge bite out of it as soon as she grabs it.

After returning the tray to the counter, Grace comes back, sits and they welcome their first candidate.

And their second. Third… all the way to the tenth.

It's not like Sameen hates them all. It's just that she can't believe some of the things she's hearing. The requirements _they_ have, when it should be the other way around.

It's two o'clock in the afternoon and the girls are already ready to call it a day.

“If I have to hear one more girl ask me what I feel about Allah, I will punch somebody.”

“Yeah, you and me both,” Joss agrees.

This is bullshit, how can they be expected to just find the perfect stranger to invite into their homes through a place as impersonal as the Internet?

“I'm about ready to be done,” Sameen complains. “How much more of this torture are we supposed to endure?”

Grace checks the pages she printed out of her email. “Just one more left. If we don't like her, we're gonna have to keep looking.”

“I don't know about you guys, but I could seriously use with some spare cash right now,” says Joss. “School books are getting way too expensive, even with my scholarship discount.”

A switch _clicks_ in Sameen’s brain at Joss’s words. Because yeah, most of the girls they met today were annoying, but if she's honest with herself, she didn't even really try to find at least one redeeming quality in any of them.

Slumped over her chair, she sighs and pushes herself up. “Okay, last one. She better be at least hot. Wouldn't mind waking up to a pretty sight, if you know what I mean.”

She knows she's said the right words when she hears her friends chuckle, when Joss shakes her head and Grace gives her a pretty smile. She may not know how to interact with the rest of the world, but these two she's got covered. Years of being friends with them, despite her initial expectancy of having a short term relationship with girls she was sure would leave her behind, have taught her everything she needs to know about them.

Grace sits facing the front door, so she's the first of the three to see the newcomer walk in. She wiggles her fingers at someone behind Joss and Sam, her smile never leaving her face.

“Hi, you must be Grace, right?”

The voice quickly approaches the girls, but Sam's too preoccupied sipping her coffee to lift her eyes up. Suddenly, a pale, long hand crosses her field of vision as the newcomer reaches to greet Grace.

“I'm Root,” she says.

The girl towers over Sameen, who's forced to crane her neck up… and nearly chokes on her coffee.

Grace looks at the new girl, confused. She checks the pages in front of her and then looks back to the girl. “Root? I thought your name was Samantha?”

Long hair, curly, brown and wet from the rain, spilling raindrops on the floor, down the front of Sameen’s t-shirt. It's all Sam can see from this position. That and an impossibly long neck, flushed red from the cold weather.

“That's my Christian name,”  she jokes. “But no one calls me that.”

What kind of a name is Root anyway? Who even has that kind of nickname?

Sameen swallows imperceptibly, setting her mug down. Her arms cross over her chest of their own accord. She frowns as she keeps her eyes on this girl. Joss invites her to sit, and she takes her leather jacket off, hanging it on the chair beside Grace while she curiously looks at Sameen with a smirk on her lips. She's carrying a big ass duffle bag that she drops on the floor, as well as a backpack that she carefully deposits over the table in front of her.

Root entwines her fingers, resting her elbows on the table, brushing off Grace's request to let her bring her something warm to drink.

“I'm fine,” she says. She looks directly into Grace's eyes and it's this detail what makes Sam think that there's more to her than meets the eye. The way she never breaks eye contact, how she keeps her smile plastered on her face, they're things Sameen taught herself to look for in people. If she couldn't get how emotions work, then she'd try the next best thing and learn to read them.

She lets herself analyse the girl in front of her, looking for the cracks in her skin. Her high cheekbones are also flushed scarlet like her neck, her thin face so innocent-looking that for a moment, Sam is thrown off her game. She's sure there's something about her; something feels _off_. But it's hidden under layers and layers and stashed away behind seven locked doors.

“So, Root,” says Joss, making herself more comfortable in her chair. “You read our house rules. Right?” Root nods. “We're looking for someone to move right in, cash in hand to pay a month upfront.”

“Did you like the pictures in the ad?” Grace asks Root. “We have more in our phones if you want to see them.”

“There's no need,” she replies. Then her gaze turns to Sam and holds it for the longest second. Her head tilts as she considers her, before saying, “I'm sure that you guys have a beautiful place. I can tell just by looking at you.”

Sam feels the need to say something overpowering her restraint. Root’s eyes keep looking into hers, searching, unsettling. She knows what she's trying to find. Knows she won't find it, because it's not there.

“There's not a lot of room at the apartment if you were thinking of bringing in a ton of shit,” she says and it's so _not_ what she had planned to say. She's sure Joss is ready to murder her right here. But the words are already out, she couldn't put them back even if she wanted to. And she doesn't.

Because, surprisingly, Root’s face scrunches up and she laughs right in front of her. It makes her grit her jaw because she doesn't get it.

Root’s tinny laugh is contagious, and soon Grace and Joss join her, Joss smacking the table, Grace covering her mouth with her hand. It takes a moment for Root and the girls to stop laughing while Sam just sits there, eyes bouncing from one to the other.

“You're Sameen, right?” Root asks her once her laughter dies down. And it feels weird to hear her say her name like that, like they're already friends. Makes Sam bite the inside of her cheek, take a deep breath. “I think I'd like sharing a room with you.”

Grace squeezes Root’s hand and Sam wonders how it is that they already feel this comfortable around this girl. “ _Shaw_ here,” Grace corrects her, “can seem a little rough around the edges, but she's actually the mum of the group.”

Sameen is outraged. Her brow creases so much it almost touches her nose. “I am _not_ the mum of the group,” she says. “That's you.”

Joss shakes her head. “Mmm mmm. Grace is the cool aunt. You're the mum. Always bossing us around and putting us in time-outs if we misbehave.”

“Then what are you?” Root sounds genuinely interested.

Sameen speaks before Joss gets a chance to. “That's easy. Joss is the crazy cousin that flew in from miles away, only to get drunk at the party, make a mess and leave.”

Grace can't contain the burst of laughter that rushes out of her. Both her hands hit the table and Joss looks at her, seriously offended.

“I'm not the cousin th- well, maybe, I _am_ a little crazy at parties, but only when I crash them. The rest of the time I'm the cool and collected cousin who works her butt off to get good grades.”

Sam's lips twitch, just the corner of her lip curving up in a small smile. And it's crazy, because for a moment there she forgot about Root sitting with them. But when she finds her looking at the three of them with such _longing_ in her eyes, she thinks she's already made up her mind about inviting her in. It takes her aback, the fastness of her decision, but she doesn't question it.

Sameen lifts her eyes to Root, sees her frowning, trying to decode her. “So what?” she asks her. “You wanna move in or not?”

Root sighs, her frown disappearing. “I think I'd very much like that, Sameen.”

And Sam's not sure why she doesn't correct her when she uses her first name.

 

Root’s slim fingers brush the spines of the books on their shelves, taking a few seconds to pick up the framed photos of the girls Grace has put there, and Sam has to remind herself that it's okay. She's not invading her territory, she's just cataloging items, taking inventory.

Her eyes wander over to the easels by the large window where Grace likes to work. Sam leans against a wall, arms crossed, observing. Root’s stuff lays over the sofa and she moves with ease around the apartment. The big bookshelf against the right side wall (a piece of crap the girls restored and that Grace painted over) houses an assortment of trinkets found over the years. Most of them are Joss’s and Grace's, but Sam has some things there too. Her father's dog tags hang from a nail she put there herself. The stereo system Root’s currently analysing was Sam's prize after winning a bet. She'd been on her one hundredth and fourth push up by the time her contender gave up in a shaking mess. She completed the hundred and fifty they'd said they'd do because she'd wanted them to see she wasn't a liar. Now the boys from the football team look at her in awe and greet her every time she walks by them. They call her the Little Firecracker.

The beat up sofa had been a gift from Lionel after his parents decided to change theirs. It's still good, it's just that the tapestry’s colour has faded into a murky beige and your butt can sink real low if you stay on the same pillow for too long. But the LED screen TV in front of it is new. Grace’s boyfriend, Harold, gave it to her for her birthday last year. Sometimes Sameen wants to ask him to share his secret of success with her, but then she thinks better of it. She finds Harold weird, but Grace loves him, so she adopted him into their circle of friends without a second thought, just like she did with Joss’s beau, John. Sameen doesn't get love, but John brings her food every time she needs to eat, almost like he has a sensor aimed at her, and she thinks that that's what having a big brother must feel like.

It's still light out, but the clouds filter most of the sunlight. It reaches Root’s face through the curtains and makes Sameen not be able to look away. The shapes on Root’s face draw smiles, but Sam sees they don't exactly reach her eyes. There's a heavy blanket over her shoulders, pushing her down. Sam's not sure how her friends can't see it.

Root turns to her and her big brown eyes startle her. Sameen frowns at her and waits. Again, Root offers her a smile that is just too sickly sweet. “Will you show me the room?”

“Yeah. Yeah, come on.”

The bare bed to the left is pushed up against the window Sam doesn't like to sleep next to. A night table rests between the beds’ headboards, Sam's tidy, freshly-made bed pushed against the wall in front of the door. They managed to make a square space in the middle, the beds making an L shape, an armoire on the right side wall next to a desk. A metal locker with Sam's equipment stands at the foot of her bed. There's no other decorative item in a room that Sameen uses only to sleep.

Sam stands beside the door, waiting for Root to say something. She sees her looking at the way the beds are arranged and hopes the girl doesn't snore right next to her head. She should have put the head of the bed towards the other side, but she's too tired to rearrange the furniture now.

The three girls turn towards her with eyebrows raised. She realises she let out a deep sigh without meaning to.

“It's not much, we know,” says Grace. “But you could put up a poster, or some pictures? We could help you move your things in, if you want.”

Damn, Sameen hates the way Grace's voice is pleading with Root.

“No need. All my stuff is in the living room, and I brought,” she says, reaching into her jacket and pulling out a big manila envelope that she hands to Joss, “a copy of the contract already signed and two-months pay upfront.”

“You serious?” asks Sameen. She can't stay quiet anymore.

Root grins, revelling on the fact that she's shaken her. “Sure,” she says. “I'm not very picky about the places I live in.” The lilt in her voice and the way her eyes roam over Sam's body makes Sam think she's talking about _anything_ _but_ her choices in apartments.

Grace and Joss pull Sam out of the room, leaving Root standing there, looking around Sam's side. There's nothing much there, but it seems to fascinate her all the same and Sam doesn't see why.

“She signed the thing, she brought the cash,” says Joss. She picks up the bills to further her case. “I say we give her a chance. We can always throw her out later if we don't like her.”

They both look at Sam, who still has her arms crossed. They look so hopeful that Sameen can't bring herself to say no. It's not like she has to become this chick's best friend. She just has to share the room with her.

She heaves a sigh, lets her arms fall to put her hands in her hoodie’s pockets. “Fine,” she says. The girls squeal quietly. “But if she messes with my shit, she's gone.”

All of a sudden, a hand trails over her arm and she freezes, jumping away in surprise. Root’s standing right next to her, says, “Don't worry, sweetie. I wouldn't dream of it.”

The smile she's offering Sam is hopeful, inquisitive. Almost as if she were waiting for Sam to hug her and welcome her to the apartment, but at the same time… it's nothing like that.

Sameen has a little trouble identifying the look, the emotion behind it. Until she recognises it. She knows that behind her many smiles, what Root’s really hiding is something that is broken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on Tumblr @ellainthetardis for the whole experience! And follow Mars @rootingforshaws too, my companion in this story. :)  
> (Any mistakes you find, let me know! English is not my first language.)
> 
> SONGS FOR THIS CHAPTER:  
> twenty one pilots - Stressed Out (Grace/Joss/Sameen) - https://youtu.be/pXRviuL6vMY  
> Hailee Steinfeld - Love Myself (Sameen) - https://youtu.be/bMpFmHSgC4Q  
> Lorde - Royals (Root) - https://youtu.be/nlcIKh6sBtc


	2. 1.5: Social Media - Part One

* * *

 

* * *

 


	3. TWO

  


Sameen wakes up at the crack of dawn every day, puts on her running shoes and doesn't come back for an hour, sometimes more. It's a part of the routine she didn't think would be affected by Root’s presence. But the first morning after Root moves in and she turns on the lights without giving it a second thought, she starts to regret her decision to agree to share her room with a stranger.

Root stirs, smacking her lips and humming, but instead of covering her eyes with the blankets like Sam would do, she struggles against the brightness to open them.

Not one to cower under someone else's stare, Sam finishes putting on her running t-shirt, covering her tummy. She's pretty sure she can feel Root’s eyes glued to the spot where her skin was just exposed, but makes no comment. If anything, Root’s stare gives her a little boost of self-esteem and pride. Sam knows what she's got going for her. She works too damn hard to keep herself in top shape.

“Sorry for waking you,” says Sam, not really meaning it.

Root’s lips purse in a tight smile as she looks her over. “No, you're not,” she says.

Sameen finishes tying her shoelaces, tugging on her ponytail to make sure it's secure. The smile in Root’s voice makes her turn her head, her eyes finding Root’s. And sure, Sam's had her fair share of sexual partners, but none of them have looked at her like Root is doing, like she were something… appetising. Hell, she didn't even sleep with the girl. Why the fuck is she wearing that huge satisfied grin?

“You're right,” Sam says. She pulls on her jacket, zipping it all the way up and putting on a fleece scarf over it around her neck. “I'm not.”

Root’s laugh surprises her and, again, she turns towards her without actually meaning to. For a moment, Sameen forgets all about her run. Root’s long wavy hair is messy from sleep, sprawled all around her over her pillow. Her blankets are down to her belly, leaving her shoulders bare thanks to the tank top she's wearing. Her right arm rests casually over her forehead,  the other one over her stomach. Sameen can see she's not wearing a bra.

Which is totally normal, who wears a bra to bed? She sighs deeply, working her jaw, trying to dispel the image her mind is conjuring of Root’s small breasts exposed for her to see.

She can't start thinking like this. She's gotta live with the girl, for fuck’s sake. She can't mess this up just because she horny. She owes her friends that much.

But then Root gives her a smile, a real smile, so different than the ones she wore the day before, and Sam freezes. “That's okay, Sameen,” she says, burrowing her body further into the bed, bringing the covers up to her chin and breaking the hold she had on Sam. “I don't mind.”

Root yawns and closes her eyes, her small smile still visible. Sameen’s almost to the door, when she hears Root again.

“You should wear a beanie,” she says. Her voice has already taken on a sleepy tone. “Sounds like it's gonna start raining.”

Sam frowns at her. She walks back into the room, stands by Root’s bed and looks out the window. It looks cloudy, yeah, but she checks The Weather Wizard every day and it didn't say anything about it raining so early today. She's so preoccupied by this, that she doesn't notice how close to Root she is until her legs bump into the bed.

Root sighs, and her smile invades Sam's ears. “Sam,” she whispers, her exhaustion preventing her from speaking more clearly. “Trust me.”

Sam's gaze falls down to her new roommate. It shocks her how at ease Root looks. She would be freaking out if she had to be in her shoes.

The apartment is quiet, a sound that calms Sameen. And now, Root’s even breathing joins in to the tranquility of the morning and Sam can't say that it's disrupting the balance, because it doesn't feel like it. Yet.

She's not sure if Root’s still awake, but she speaks out loud anyway. “Yeah. Okay.”

She thinks she sees Root’s smile grow as she turns the lights off and closes the door.

 

Root is almost never home. The few times Sam has seen her, she's either been sleeping or typing away at her laptop, tortoise-shell glasses on, legs extended over the bed, body hunched over the computer. Sam's glad she doesn't use the desk. With her school books piled up there exactly how she left them, it's clear Root hasn't been anywhere near it.

It's been two weeks since she moved in, and the girls have barely spoken to her. She leaves early every morning, and most of the times, she comes back when Sam's already in bed. Not that Sam's complaining about her schedule. It's the other things Root does that annoy her.

Like her habit of stealing Sam's pillows to place behind her back when she's working in bed. Her nonchalant attitude towards her when Sam forcibly yanks her pillows back to throw them on her own bed. How the scowl on Sam's face seems not to affect her beyond the point of returning her grimace with a smile. Or how she seems not to have that many socks, so of course she feels entitled to wear Sam's. She does wash them later, but still. Just yesterday Sameen almost cracked her head open when her feet tangled with something slippery Root had thrown on the floor.

“What the-?” Sam started, her ass hurting on the spot where she landed. She had been ready to let out the worst curse ever heard by mankind, when her hand brought the culprit up to eye level.

A freaking _black silk_ bra. She'd had to shut her eyes and take a deep breath, not sure what the twinge in her lower belly meant.

Well, actually, she was pretty damn sure. She just couldn't let it surface.

She'd thrown the bra over Root’s bed, furious, and stalked out of the room, ready to go to the gym and spar with someone to relieve the tension on her neck.

The only reason Sameen hasn't snapped at her yet is because Root has learnt which brands of protein bars Sam likes and keeps Sam's dresser drawer stacked with them. The fridge is now also full of fruits and veggies all the time, something that only happened occasionally before she moved in. Root doesn't seem to care that she's never home to eat them. She's made sure they know that she leaves them there for everyone to eat. It makes Sam wonder when exactly the girl puts sustenance in her body. She thinks it could use with one of her green monster smoothies.

Damn, Grace was right. She totally is the mum of the group.

 

By the third Friday of Root’s move, Grace and Joss decide it's been enough. Sam comes back from class to find them ordering a ton of pizza and debating who's gonna go out into the cold and buy the beer.

“Why don't you ask Root to buy some before coming home?” says Grace, her elbows propped up on the small square table to the left of the living room.

Sameen sheds her clothing, hanging her overcoat on a hook by the front door. Her ears perk up at Grace’s words. She turns to them, frown in place.

“What are you up to, now?”

Joss answers without raising her eyes from her phone. “I've been texting Root since this morning to make sure she gets her skinny ass home early.” She finishes typing and looks up at Sam, who's come closer to the table. “We should get to know her. It feels weird living with someone you know all of two things about.”

Grace's phone pings with a text. She picks it up, says, “Oh, it's her! She says, ‘Tell Joss to relax, I'll bring her her Miller Lite.’” Joss pumps her fist in the air, mouthing a “yes”. It makes Grace giggle and Sam's frown deepen.

So Root’s been paying attention to all of them? _All_ of their tastes. Sameen doesn't know why this piece of information sits heavy on her stomach. She grinds her jaw, folding her arms over her chest.

A new text makes Grace's phone ping again. Grace smiles as she reads it, “‘And Stella for Sam, of course.’” She shows the text to Sam, who leans on the table to take a look. “She put a winky face, too!” Grace announces happily. “I could never call you Sam, it sounds strange to me.”

Joss raises both eyebrows at Sameen, the curve of her lips twitching up in a smile. “Yeah, you hate it when anyone else calls you that, but for some reason, I haven't heard you stop her once.”

Sameen can only roll her eyes, before she turns around and heads for her room. “That's because she's not a pain in my ass, unlike the two of you,” she lies. “Whatever. I'm gonna go take a shower.”

“Sure thing, _Sam_ ,” Joss calls out.

Grace laughs and smacks Joss’s arm playfully as Sameen turns on her heels to give them the middle finger. Joss just cracks up at the seriousness in Sam's face. Looking down, Grace is trying her best not to burst out laughing, but once Sam closes her bedroom door, she hears their laughter booming through the walls.

It's all she can do to shake her head, fighting off a smile of her own.

* * *

 

Grace and Joss have been texting Root ever since she moved in with them, asking her about her schedule and when she'd be home. Today is different, though. Joss had started a string of texting at around noon and hadn't let up until Root had agreed she'd be home for dinner.

Her mind keeps telling her that it is a bad idea, but she just wants to make sure she made the right call. She moved in with them for a reason. So why not get to know them all a bit more?

The cold wind makes her hair billow around her, her fingers freezing cold around the body of her camera. The clouds act as a great filter and Root lifts her camera up, focusing on a little girl who can barely move, she's wearing so much. The girl's curly hair dances in the air. When she smiles, it lights up her eyes.

And that's when Root takes her picture.

Lowering her camera, she turns on the display to see the photos she just took. A sigh bubbles up her throat as she moves through them. Honestly, Root can't understand how everyone else around her is so oblivious to the world. Everyone is so wrapped up in their own shit, they don't even bother with those around them, too content in their bubbles of safety to give a fuck about anyone else.

Her pictures depict the happiness and serenity her own mind lacks. She wishes to draw strength from them, but almost always falls short.

Root goes back all the way to a few photos she never erases from her memory card when she moves her pictures into her laptop. The only photos she's ever taken that actually mean something to her.

Pictures of a face that would look mean and uninviting to anyone else, but that to her hold a powerful secret. It's the face of someone making a conscious effort to try and understand the importance of being in the midst of a crowd. Someone struggling to learn how the cogs of the machine work as a whole. What makes people tick. What drives them.

She could look at these pictures for hours and still be amazed at this person like they were something new to her, always finding new details in them.

Her phone rings suddenly, bringing her back down to Earth. She reads the time on the screen, 4:30 pm, checks the caller ID. Closing her eyes, she sighs and answers the call.

“Daniel, what's up? Hmmm. Yeah. No, I left that running last night, it should have been done by now. What do you mean, it's offline?” she says, running a hand over her face. “ _Fuck_. Fine. Listen, I'm coming over. Don't touch anything.”

She hangs up, fuming, and shoves her cell in her pocket.

Her camera's still on. She turns it off before carefully putting it back in her backpack. She has less than three hours to fix whatever mess the boys made in her absence. And damn them if she's gonna let them ruin this night for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SONGS FOR THIS CHAPTER:  
> Bastille - Pompeii (Root) https://youtu.be/F90Cw4l-8NY


	4. 2.5: Social Media - Part Two

* * *

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (IG graphic by @rootingforshaws)


	5. THREE

Root’s sure Joss must be ready to go out and start looking for her to drag her home, so she texts her to let her know she's running late.

The computer she'd been working on had suffered a glitch and half her work had been lost. Root spent hours fixing the bug, Daniel and Jason hovering over her, before she was satisfied with the result.

“Call me if there's any change,” she tells them, putting on her coat and scarf. “We need this cracked by Monday.”

The boys nod at her as she opens the door and leaves the building. The bags she carries make clicking noises as the beer bottles clink against each other. She sniffs against the cold, the tip of her nose already freezing, and reaches her bike.

Root opens the glove compartment on the back, puts the bags and backpack in and takes her leather gloves out. She unlocks the chain and stashes it in there too, before closing it to put her helmet on. At least her face won't turn into an icicle this way, but she can already feel her nose starting to run.

Her phone says it's almost eight o'clock. And she's damn hungry.

 

Struggling with the bags in her hand, Root fishes for her keys in her pockets. But she doesn't get a chance to open the door before Joss is pulling it, grabbing her arm to get her inside.

“Oh my God, finally!” she exclaims, taking the bags from Root’s hands.

Root smiles at her eagerness, turning around to close the door behind her. The apartment's warm, the smells of the pizza that awaits her drift into her nose. A sigh of contentment escapes her as she pulls her scarf off her neck and hangs it on the hook by the door. Grace and Joss’s loud voices are quickly becoming one of Root favourite sounds. They're everything she's always wanted and never had.

Well, that's not exactly true. But that's a place in her mind she doesn't like to go to.

Root’s so enthused by the melody of their voices, that she doesn't notice Sameen walking up to her until she's right behind her.

“I was beginning to think you weren't gonna show,” Sam says, making Root jump.

She composes herself before turning towards her. “Well, I promised I would,” she replies. Root walks the five paces that separate them, rolling up her sleeves. Delighting in the fact that Sameen lowers her eyes to follow her motion.

Sam stands stock still, allowing Root a moment to let her eyes wander over her. Sameen’s wearing baggy blue sweatpants and an NYU grey sweatshirt that, if anything, adds more to her appeal. It makes Root think about what is hiding under it, and her heartbeat picks up speed.

Sameen is watching her with that calculating look she's grown to know in these past few weeks. She frowns at Root as if she were a very complicated puzzle she'd like to solve.

Her days here are numbered, Root knows it. She learnt a long time ago that good things don't last. Everything around her has the tendency to wither and die. Which is why she has to be extra careful around Sameen. That's not a fate she wishes for the other girl.

But if her stay here won't be too long, then she wants to make the most out of it. Leaning in to whisper in Sam's ear, she grabs her shoulder, squeezing tight. It doesn't surprise her when Sam shrugs to push her away. She's always known Sam's a smart girl.

Sameen smells of soap and vanilla shampoo and Root can't stop herself from taking in a deep breath. She hovers next to her, bending down to be at the same level as her, for just two seconds, but it's more than enough to make Sameen shudder.

“And I always keep my promises, Sam,” she says into her ear.

Root straightens her spine and gives Sam a wicked grin as the other girl inhales sharply, eyes growing wide. Root loves the way Sam's jaw works around the words she can't say, before turning around and joining her friends at the table.

Root knows she can't let this get too far. But it excites her not knowing just how far that could be. She's always been one to push the boundaries, so why stop now?

“Root, get yo ass in here, girl! I'm starving!” Joss calls out.

Root makes sure her backpack on the floor is out of the way and joins the girls. The sofa’s only big enough for three of them; Sam has already brought up a chair and sat down, leaving the empty space next to Grace on the sofa for Root. Another chair is being used as a makeshift table for the pizza and each of the girls nurse their own beers. Root grabs a Stella from the pack, sitting down on the sofa.

She knows what's coming, even prepared herself for it, but it doesn't make her any less anxious. She's not sure why, but she doesn't want to lie to the girls. But she's not ready to give them the whole truth, either.

Grace offers her a slice of the pineapple pizza and she immediately bites into it, grateful for the food. She can't help the little moan that escapes her. She's been thinking about this damn pizza since noon, you can't blame her for enjoying it.

Her gaze finds Sam's, holds it. Sameen looks serious as always, but her eyes shine differently. She takes a swig of her bottle, not looking away, and it almost feels like a staring contest Sam's desperate to win. Good thing Root isn't one to back down easily. Two can play at this game just fine.

“So, Root,” Grace says. She turns her upper body towards her, to see her better. “Tell us where you're from.”

Okay, this is a safe enough question. Root was ready for this one.

“You wouldn't have heard of it,” she says. “It's a small town in Texas, called Bishop. Barely any people live there.”

“Yeah? How many?” Joss asks, mouth full of pizza.

“A little over three thousand.”

“That's it? Wow. I wouldn't have pegged you for a small town Southerner.” Joss points at her with her beer, winking.

The knot in Root’s chest loosens. Maybe this was a good idea after all.

“Yeah, you've barely got an accent,” adds Grace.

“That's because I'm not drunk yet,” she says, grinning and tilting her head to the side.

“Oh, girl, I like you more every day!” Joss’s voice booms through the apartment.

The laugh that bursts from Root’s lips is the first real one she's released in a long time. It turns into giggles that spread like wildfire, igniting the others in the same manner. Touching even Sameen.

Looking at her out of the corner of her eye, Root hides behind her empty beer bottle, biting on her lower lip. Sam keeps munching on more pizza, her eyes trained on her friends. And allowing the smallest trace of a smile to grace her features.

The smile vanishes quickly, but Root knows that it's not because she's grown bored. It goes beyond that. Root sighs, giving a silent thanks to whichever higher power gifted her with this moment. She thinks that this, being content and at peace, surrounded by girls without a thread of evil in them, is more than what she bargained for.

She wonders if what she's doing with the boys is enough to make her worthy of times like these. She hopes so. God, she hopes so.

 

The girls ask her about her family and she tells them the truth: no parents, mum died a few years ago, she doesn't have brothers or sisters. She doesn't have anyone, really.

She hates the looks Joss and Grace give her when she assures them it's okay. She loved her mum and, yeah she misses her, but she was sick for a long time and it's better this way.

Sameen is another story altogether. She hasn't uttered a word since the other two began grilling her with questions. Crossing her feet under her legs, she observes the conversation with attentive eyes, even though she's had her fair share of beers. Root stopped drinking a while ago, not wanting to loosen her tongue more than it already is.

When the questions start to get too personal, she expertly diverges the attention to one of the other girls, learning more about them in the process. And when they tell her some things she already knows, she tries to act like this is the first time she's heard of them.

She doesn't mean to look, but she can feel Sameen’s eyes on her, and she's pretty sure that Sam can see right through her deception. A blush creeps up her skin, all the way from her chest to her ears, and she doesn't know if she should be blaming the beer or not. Root could never hold her alcohol very well.

It's one am when Joss says, “Yo, I'm beat.”

Grace stretches beside Root. “Me too,” she says through a yawn.

They both get up and make a beeline for their bedroom. Joss turns around, suddenly remembering something that brings a sparkle to her eyes. “Hey Shaw, you're working tomorrow night, right?”

Root’s eyes widen in curiosity. She looks at Sam, who sighs and rolls her eyes.

“You already know that I do, Joss. Why do you ask? You know you'll be on the list.”

“I'm sorry,” interrupts Root. “What list is that?”

“Oh, you don't know?” Grace asks her. “Sam dee-jays at this club a few blocks from here sometimes. The Mean Machine, ever been?”

Root swears she can feel her hairline pulling upwards as she smiles. She stares at Sam, who's crossing her arms and pouting most adorably. Sameen shakes her head, refusing to look at either of them.

“Can't say that I have,” she says, gaze fixed on Sameen.

Still not looking at her, Sameen says, “I'll tell Tomas to add your name to the list too. You should come.” She chooses that moment to lift her eyes to Root, paralysing her.  

Gone are the flirty grins and remarks Root has laid on her all night. The way that Sam is looking at her is enough to make her want to hightail it to another planet. The sincerity behind her eyes hits Root with tremendous force, leaving her breathless. For once in her life, Root’s at a loss for words, not sure if she wants to keep playing this game.

“Okay then!” Grace claps her hands, bringing Root out of her reverie. “We're gonna have _so_ much fun! And you'll meet the boys! They've been dying to meet you.”

“Yeah, John doesn't even believe you exist,” Joss says.

It's with great effort that Root manages to smile at them as they walk away. “Can't wait,” she says.

She turns back to look at Sam, finds her still looking at her. And before she can think better of it, she stands up from the sofa, wiggling her eyebrows at her.

She wasn't lying. She really _can't_ wait till tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of short chapter, but the next one makes up for it, trust me ;)


	6. FOUR

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> drunk!Root and DJ!Sam for y'all ;)  
> Cover image by @rootingforshaws  
> Enjoy!

“You can't wear that,” Joss declares, shaking her head in disapproval.

“Why not?” asks Root, frowning. She looks down at her outfit. “What's wrong with it?”

Joss scoffs, walking in a circle around her, arms folded across her chest. Root’s not really into the night scene, preferring going to bars for a drink instead of nightclubs, where the music's too loud and the men are too weak. She doesn't have what Joss referred to as “sexy clothes”. The few times she'd had to attend a place with such a dress code, she'd ended up borrowing clothes from other people. Without their permission. And never returning them later.

So, basically, she stole the damn clothes. But, hey, afterwards she gave them to people who actually needed them, so that's gotta count for something, right?

“The skinny jeans are fine,” says Joss. “But we gotta do something about this shirt you're wearing.”

“It's a _silk_ shirt,” Root complains.

“It's boring.” Joss grabs the edge of it, lifts it. “You gotta show more skin, girl. Have you seen you?”

Sitting on Sam's bed, Grace watches their interaction with a smile on her face. “She's right, Root,” she says, playing with the edge of her miniskirt. Root’s already recognised the gesture as an endearing tick of hers from watching her all these days. Grace lowers her voice, as if sharing a confidence. “Don't you want to find a guy who'll rock your socks off?”

Root smiles at Grace, shocked to hear her say such a scandalous thing. Beside her, Joss bites her tongue between her teeth, laughing low in her throat, her fist covering her grin.

“Actually, no,” Root says. “Just the opposite of that.” She lifts her eyebrows, holding Grace's gaze, watching her mouth form an “O” and a lovely blush creep up her cheeks.

To Root’s surprise, though, Grace clamps her mouth shut and looks at her, a hand on her cheek, head to the side.

“Well, Joss is right. That thing's boring as hell. You won't pick up any girls wearing that.”

“Told ya,” says Joss, slapping Root’s shoulder. “Now take that off, and lemme get you something of mine to wear.”

As Joss walks to her bedroom, talking under her breath about how Root will never “get any” by wearing nun’s clothes, Root finds she can’t keep her smile in check.

 

The bouncer lets them in as soon as they say their names. Root’s heart does a little jump when she's admitted. Sameen added her to the list. She kept her word even though she didn't have to; she's not Root’s friend.

Joss and Grace pull her through the crowd towards a table at the far right, between the bar and the dance floor. She looks around, trying to find the DJ’s booth, but it's pretty well concealed in shadows. The stink of sweat and desire are strong enough to make her want to leave. But she hasn't seen Sameen since this morning when Daizo called her and asked her to go help him with an algorithm he was having trouble with.

She came back after dinner to find Sam was already gone, and Joss and Grace started fussing over her to get her to change into something nice.

And by nice, they meant something that left very little to the imagination.

They reach the table they've told her is their usual whenever Sam's working. Three guys are already there, and they smile as the girls approach. The tallest one stands up and kisses Joss when she goes to him, so Root assumes he's the famous John. Grace also greets her boyfriend, but with a chaste kiss on his cheek. Root looks at them with a tight smile that doesn't reach her eyes. The third guy remains sitting in the middle of the booth, looking at her with curiosity.

“Guys,” says Grace, a hand on her boyfriend's chest. “This is our new roomie, Root. Root, this is John.” John nods stoically at her, his lips pursing in a sort-of smile. “Lionel.” A short guy with curly brown hair lifts his glass at her, mouths a “hey”. “And this,” she says, pride flowing in her voice, “is Harold.”

Root holds his gaze, her lips twitching upwards at the corners. “Hello, Harold. Nice to meet you.”

“You too, Root,” he says, narrowing his eyes behind his glasses. Beside him, Grace is beaming.

“Let's sit down, then,” Joss quips in. “My shoes are already killing me.”

The booth’s big enough to sit all six of them. Root’s left to sit at the end of the seat, her back to the dance floor. A bottle of tequila and several shot glasses are waiting on the table, and Joss waits no time pouring everyone a drink.

The last time Root did shots, she woke up with her hair caked in her own vomit and no memory of the night before. Every instinct in her body is telling her no, but… when would she have this again? This feeling of belonging to a group that's got nothing to do with computers and codes and dark rooms that no one can know about?

Root wants this. Needs this. So when Joss hands her a shot and a slice of lime, she puts her fears aside, and takes them from her. Pouring salt on her hand, she waits for the others before downing her drink. Sucking on the lime right after. Joss yells excitedly, putting the glass on the table upside down, and Root doesn't know if it's the shot already going up to her brain or the girls’ laughter, but she's beginning to truly appreciate having come here. Even if she doesn't get to see Sam at all, it was worth it to join the others.

Her smile falls as realisation dawns on her. She can't mess this up, not only with Sameen, but with Joss and Grace too. She's beginning to actually care about them. It scares her that she's not willing to lose them. She hasn't felt like this in a long time.

Damn it. She needs another shot. Or two.

The heat of the club is making her sweat in her leather jacket. Root takes it off, stows it behind her, between her butt and the back of the seat. She silently accepts the drink Joss gives her.

“Woo! There you go, girl! You look _hot_!”

“Yeah, well, everything’s kinda hot in here right now. How can you guys breathe?”

“You get used to it,” says John. His first words towards her. Huh, so he can speak. “It's not so bad after a while.”

“What you need is more liquid courage,” Joss says. She refills Root’s glass with a sweet blue liquid that quickly rushes up to her brain.

The club gets more and more packed as the time passes, dividing Root’s attention between her table and the people around it. John keeps his hand on Joss’s back, making his claim on her as Joss leans over the table to gossip with Grace. Harold looks very out of place with his dress shirt and nice shoes, but he speaks when spoken to, contributing to the conversation, which is more than Root can say for herself. And Lionel… Lionel keeps looking around, barely getting anything of what's being spoken. He seems content with just sipping his beer and being among friends.

It's a while later, when Joss is putting a new glass in her hand, that Root realises she's probably had too much to drink. Usually her body rejects the alcohol if it feels like it can't take any more. But her head feels lighter than ever, her body thrumming with energy.

Her words slur together, making her giggle at her own difficulty to speak. And she's not the only one. Joss finds everything extremely funny, falling into a fit of giggles that quickly spreads around the table. Her body's slumped over John's in her effort to be close to Root and Root doesn't understand why she just doesn't switch places with him. But then it hits her. It must be nice to have someone you can sprawl over and who'll let you. Someone who will caress the small of your back as you bend over them to talk to someone else, instead of moving you aside.

“ _Rut_ ,” Joss becomes super serious all of a sudden. “Whaswrong?”

“Nothin’, I'm fine,” she says, even though she clearly isn't. Her face has lost the ability to smile. Her muscles are heavy when she tries to.

Joss points at her, her elbow on the table. “You know whacha need? I know whatcha need.”

Joss gets up, climbs over John's legs and falls on her ass on Root’s lap. It earns a laugh from the whole table. It even makes Root smile, however small her smile is. Joss shrieks, her laughter echoing through her body still sitting on Root’s. It takes her a while to calm herself down, and one more gulp of whatever she's drinking, before she gets up and grabs Root’s wrist, pulling her up.

“Let's dance!” yells Joss, walking Root right up to the middle of the dance floor.

“And Grace?”

“Grace is busy!”

Root turns around, and sure enough, Grace and Harold are otherwise preoccupied. Nice to see that at least someone's enjoying themselves. From his post on the table, John keeps his eyes on the girls, scaring away anyone who might bother them.

The floor is thick with writhing bodies, electric movements pulsing through Root’s skin. A song she doesn't know booms from the speakers, Joss dancing beside her, trying to get her to move along.

Her limbs are heavy as she slowly dances. It's like moving through water.

And then something catches her eye. Or rather, some _one_.

Her breath halts in her throat and her heart beats wildly in her chest because her eyes have zeroed in on the person she'd been looking for and she can't believe what they're showing her.

Eyes cast down towards her equipment, Sameen moves her body to the music like no one's watching her. Her hair is loose, the first time Root’s seen it out of her ponytail. It looks wild and she wants nothing more than to tangle her hands in them and bring her closer to her. A pair of headphones hang from Sam's neck and she spins, changing the song. Root didn't know you could be jealous at an inanimate object, but there you go.

Sameen’s frown hasn't gone anywhere, though. It calms Root, seeing a familiar feature in an otherwise strange face. The grey t-shirt Sameen’s wearing highlights the muscles in her arms. Her biceps twitch whenever she moves her controls. She lets her eyes close, dancing to the beat, weaving a hand through the hair Root would love to touch. Her hips move in a way Root didn't imagine they could. Standing right where Joss left her, Root’s completely hypnotised.

“She's good, right?” Joss yells in her left ear.

It's in that moment that Sameen chooses to look up. Almost as if she knew exactly where Root would be, she finds her, black eyes holding Root’s brown ones. Root feels it, the pull, her chest heaving, her heart racing. Sam's frown disappears, and her eyes widen in a way that makes Root’s chest puff up with pride.

Root knows the song that comes up next because Joss plays it pretty much every time she's home. When Sam’s remix of Fifth Harmony’s ‘ _Worth It_ ’ starts playing, Root makes up her mind, however intoxicated it is. Joss keeps dancing around her, and Root finally decides to join her.

She keeps her eyes on Sam the whole time. And she's pretty sure, even from down here, that she can see Sameen swallowing thickly, a hungry look in her eyes.

* * *

 

Sameen saw her the second she walked in, her leather jacket recognisable even through the dark. The table she reserves for her friends is located in the middle of the club; she can always see what they're up to from her high vantage point.

She keeps an eye on Joss, knowing that the girl will want to get Root to lose control. And from what Sam could see last night when Root got happy after drinking three beers, she knows it won't take too much to get her there.

Sameen tries to bring herself back to the music she's spinning, the list of songs she so carefully chose, the arrangements she's made. But her eyes keep drifting back to the table and Root’s covered back, watching as she takes a shot, her head falling back as she downs the tequila.

God, she needs a drink. Headphone between her ear and shoulder, she gestures to Tomas at the bar to come bring her her usual. She's already emptied her first bottle of beer.

The heat of the bodies swaying to the music clings to her skin, but Sam revels in it. It's so different from the adrenaline rush she gets after a run, after sparring with someone and managing to bring them down. She's in full control of herself during those times, to ensure maximum performance, consciously utilising every muscle in her body.

Spinning is her therapy. In the shadows, it's where she lets loose of her inhibitions and just goes with the flow. The music speaks to her in a level that anyone has yet to master when talking to her. It reaches the most profound spaces in her mind, dispelling the ghosts that tell her she can't feel.

Because in these moments, she can. It surges in her veins, the fire, it beats in her heart. She moves to the beat of the song she's playing because her body can't help itself. Breathing in the stale air of booze and sex, she's a completely different person, someone she wishes she could be when the lights go out, when the music stops, when she's far from here, back in the middle of the crowd she could watch from on high feeling something inside of her for once.

She changes the song, accepting the beer Tomas brings her before he leaves her alone. The back of her neck is sweaty and she moves her hair aside, but it's no use, the air is hot anyway. Looking down at the mass of people dancing to her music, her eyes betray her by finding her table. And Sameen almost loses it. Almost.

Wavy brown hair falls on Root’s exposed back, Sam recognising Joss’s navy blue halter top on her slim figure. Her ears inform her of everything she needs to know about the job she's doing, and she knows she's not messing it up. But the pang she feels in her chest is suddenly way too real, as is the way her breath is strained, and how her jaw hurts as she clamps her teeth shut.

She closes her eyes, hand in the air inviting everyone to mimic her. She tells herself she'll need to have a talk with Joss and Grace about the amount of alcohol they’re letting Root drink. Honestly, couldn't they see last night that the girl's a total lightweight? They should be stopping her, not keep urging her on. God, Grace can completely change around Harold. Sameen’s thankful, knowing that'll never happen to her, changing around a person.

She didn't see how, but now Joss is sitting on Root’s lap, laughing at whatever joke is being said at the table. Sameen doesn't get why Root isn't pushing her away. She means to look away, but Root’s pale skin keeps calling back to her and she groans in frustration.

She's gonna have to find someone to go home with tonight, otherwise the tension in her body will make her spontaneously combust. Maybe Tomas will do. They've used the back room of the club before. He understands, and isn't half bad when Sam's too exhausted to get herself off. Yeah, she'll find him after she's done here. No way she can go back home to the same room as this woman in front of her without having relieved herself of her stress first.

The controls board shines softly in her booth, but there's no doubt that, even in the low light that hides her, those wide eyes looking up from the dance floor have managed to find Sam.

Joss twirls around Root, but the girl's stock still. Watching her. Biting her damn lower lip and roaming over Sam's body with hooded eyes. Freezing her.

When Root starts dancing to the next song on her list, Sameen just stops trying to fight it. She doesn't even notice her jaw hanging open, too preoccupied with getting more air into her lungs than anything else.

Root’s arms lift into the air, a hand on her head, fingers in her long hair. She looks at Sam as if she were the only other person in the club. She might as well be. Joss dancing around her is just an accessory, a tool Root uses expertly as her eyes never leave Sameen’s. When Root grinds into Joss, Sam's sure Root’s not thinking about her friend. Her back breaks with the beat, and Sam never would have guessed she could move like that. Makes her wonder if she'd look the same in another, more intimate setting. Joss grabs Root’s hip and Sameen’s never wanted to punch her friend more. But she realizes she's being ridiculous and lowers her eyes back to her controls.

Her self-control doesn't last long, though, and she's searching for Root’s elegant and wild body before she knows it. A part of her brain is really interested in the effects Root seems to have on her. Sam's pretty sure she's never experienced such lust in her life and it intrigues her. She would love to explore it more fully. But her mind's not that drunk yet to let her take that risk.

She knows the only thing she can do is watch Root dance for her (because that's totally what she's doing). Sameen lets her imagination conjure up the taste of her skin, the sound of her heavy breathing. The jerking of her body as Sam trails ghost kisses on her long neck, her spine. It's all Sam allows herself to do, because the alternative could lead to disaster and she doesn't want to think about a stranger in her room once Root’s gone.

The room that she was so reluctant to share won't feel the same without Root’s clicking noises as she types on her laptop when she thinks Sam's sleeping. Sam hates it when Root leaves her wet towels on the floor, when she makes her bed with care but Root can't bring herself to put in a little bit of effort into cleaning up her mess. She thinks about Root running to take a shower, throwing her clothes haphazardly on her bed, showing no qualms about being almost naked in front of her, claiming she's in a hurry, she needs to leave soon or she'll be late.

With the music ringing in her ears, Sam's toes and fingers curl and she curses at whoever threw Root her way. It isn't supposed to be like this. She isn't supposed to _want_ someone so bad, especially not someone she barely knows.

The fog she's in didn't let her see that John had been watching the girls from his spot at the table until he comes up to them and pulls Joss aside. Joss lets herself be carried away, her thoughts sure to be a tangle of desire like Sameen’s.

What's weird is that Root doesn't notice she's been left on her own. Her eyes keep reeling Sam in, her movements like a snake dancing to Sam's hypnotic song. Her hands travel over her torso, hips and spine and neck curling, igniting the flame in Sameen more and more.

Sameen watches as Root’s eyes struggle but fail to remain open. She keeps her gaze on Root as her head falls back, grazing her own neck with long fingers, her nails black. Root’s mouth parts in a gasp Sam is sure she can hear even with the loud music pounding in her ears. She hears her own moan leaving her lips, her body poised forwards over her controls as if to bring herself closer to the wonder in front of her eyes.

Her chest heaves maniacally, worst than after an extenuating run. She gulps, feeling her throat dry and wishing she could just give in and let herself drink from Root already.

And then her body does something it's never done before, and she jumps, eyes wide, her thoughts running a million miles an hour. Because Root saw her and she's not sure what to make of it.

Sameen has never, ever, felt the urge to trap her own lip between her teeth in an effort to keep herself in check. On the contrary, she doesn't shy away from the sounds she makes. But that's not it either. She's seen Grace and Joss bite their lips when they're around Harold and John. And it's usually in response to something they find appealing in the other person. Sure, Sameen finds Root very appealing, but then again, she finds a lot of other people attractive.

Her frown returns, the need to understand expanding in her still heaving chest. She tilts her head to the side, releasing her lip from the hold she'd had on it, and keeps on watching Root.

Root looks back at her, a hand around her belly and the other on her shoulder, and her expression shifts to one Sameen doesn't have to waste time analysing. Her eyes are the widest Sam's ever seen them, eyebrows almost through the roof. The way her breathing hitches has got nothing to do with want as Sam sees her face fall. She looks to Sameen, her mouth opening and closing like she'd like to say something to her, but it's idiotic given the distance between them, and they know it.

Sameen can do nothing to stop her from stumbling back to the table that's already missing Lionel, Grace and Harold. She can do nothing as Root picks up a glass of whatever and downs it in a single gulp. Sam sees the heavy blanket she first saw on her when she met her fall on Root’s shoulders again.

The need to be the only one allowed to lift it strangles her in a torrent of feelings Sameen didn't even think she was capable of experiencing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SONGS FOR THIS CHAPTER:  
> Demi Lovato - Neon Lights (just cause I like it :P) https://youtu.be/v9uDwppN5-w  
> David Guetta ft Nicki Minaj, Bebe Rexha & Afrojack - Hey Mama (Sameen) https://youtu.be/uO59tfQ2TbA  
> Fifth Harmony ft Kid Ink - Worth It (Sam/Root) https://youtu.be/YBHQbu5rbdQ


	7. 4.5: Social Media - Part Three

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Joss's IG graphic by @rootingforshaws  
> Made with help from Mars!


	8. FIVE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cover image by Mars @rootingforshaws

She's ruining it. The one thing she said she wouldn't do, and she goes and gets herself drunk and fucking ruins it.

Root opens her eyes and immediately finds Sameen watching her with a frown on her face, as if trying to determine what's wrong with her. And Root wants to laugh, because, seriously, what _isn't_ wrong with her is more like it. As Sam's frown deepens, Root struggles to walk away. She feels Sam's eyes on her as she stumbles through the drunken crowd, as she falls on her ass beside Joss and John kissing.

Grace and Harold are already gone, and Root’s ready to call it a night, too. Feels like her entrails are playing a game of tug of war amongst each other. Her throat tastes like shit.

Root was sure she'd left her jacket right here. Her keys and wallet are in her pockets and she needs them now, she can't go home with no keys. She's not sure Grace will be there, but even if she is, she would never want to bother her when she's… busy.

That other guy, what was his name? Hair Mop. He left too. Root wonders what could have made him leave, he looked like he was having a good time before. But then she looks at Joss and John getting it on in the booth and understands.

Oh look, there's her jacket. Under John's big ass. Great. Just, fucking great.

Is the club spinning or is that just her? Because Root’s pretty sure the room’s tilting slightly. It forces her to close her eyes shut. Take a deep breath. If she stays just like this, she can pretend her head's not about to burst.

Just keep your eyes closed.

Hanna would have taken care of her. Root misses Hanna. She doesn't even know why she's thinking about her now, when she swore to herself that she wouldn't. It hurts too much. Her chest aches with a pain she'd thought was long gone by now. She tries to calm her heartbeats, but they have a mind of their own, drumming to the beat of the music invading her senses.

 

Someone shakes her shoulder, trying to get her to wake up. She hadn't even realised she'd fallen asleep. But why would they wake her up? Now her stomach ache’s back.

Whoever’s shaking her must really hate her, can't they see she doesn't want to move? A whine escapes her lips and she tries to breathe slowly, because bile is rising in her throat and it's the worst.

“How much did you have to drink?” Root hears someone -the person who was shaking her- say. “I'm gonna fucking kill Carter.”

Root wants to ask, Carter who? But she can't even form the words, let alone speak them. Her mouth purses in an attempt to keep the sick in. She still can't open her eyes, the lights are too bright.

“Root. Root, we have to go.”

“Go?”

“Yes. Home.”

“Yeah, I wanna go home, Hanna. I don't feel good.”

There's an arm on her bicep, pulling her up. Root fights to open her eyes, sees a small figure in front of her but can't make out much more than that. But it's gotta be Hanna, right? Her hair's as pretty as Root remembers.

Root leans her weight against the table, letting her friend put her jacket over her shoulders. She can't find the holes to put her arms through the sleeves, and it suddenly makes her laugh because it's silly that she finds herself in this situation again when she said she wouldn't.

“Come on, Root. Help me out here.” The voice sounds angry and irritated. Root doesn't like it when people talk to her like that.

“I _am_ helping,” Root complains, looking down and frowning.

“No, you're not,” the tiny person says.

Root’s beginning to think this might not be Hanna after all. But that doesn't make any sense. Hanna’s her only friend. No one but Hanna would be doing this for her.

Root doesn't remember the last time Hanna was this mad at her and it's making a rock clog her throat, bringing tears to her eyes.

She can't afford to lose her.

“Don't be angry, please.”

The words are out of her mouth before she can stop them, and she hates being this vulnerable in front of her, but at the same time, she knows she'll understand. Hanna’s always been the only one who understood her.

Her tiny friend sighs, Root hears it even with her one working ear and over the loud music. It resonates through the arm, hand, fingers still connected to her wrist.

“I'm mad, but not at you,” she says. “No, actually, I am a little mad at you. You shouldn't have drank so much, Root. I thought you were smart.”

Root smiles. “But I am smart,” she says, grinning.

And now her face can't stop smiling. It's like her muscles have locked into place. It's funny.

“You're drunk, that's what you are.”

“That too.”

 

“Root, come on, man! Help me out. I can't carry you all the way home.”

Whoa, when did it get this cold?

“Are we walking home? I thought we were taking a cab.”

“We're literally five blocks from the apartment. We're walking.”

“Are you still mad at me?” Root asks.

“If you keep leaning your entire body on me, I will be. Walk straight, Root.”

The cold air is not helping. Root’s head feels like a football that's been kicked around too much. And the cold’s making her tummy want to kill her. She doesn't want to keep waking, she's freezing. Who convinced her to wear this shirt anyway? It sucks.

Luckily for her, there's a warm body next to her. Root stops, hugs her friend and hides her cold nose in the crook of her neck. Immediately, she feels better. Her head's not spinning if she stays still. Her stomach’s guarded by her friend's warmth. A sigh of contentment Root’s not exactly sure is coming from her reaches her ear.

“This is nice,” she says into Hanna’s neck. “You don't smell too good, but it's nice.”

Her friend groans, her small body cocooned in Root’s, making her frame shake. “Will you let me open the door, please.”

No, why? Root’s fine like this. It's cozy.

“Root,” the voice says into her shoulder, her face pressed into Root’s side. Root can feel hands trying to pry her arms away, so she hugs her harder. “Fucking hell,” her friend curses, shaking with rage.

Root laughs, her nose inside hair that smells of cigarette smoke and vanilla. Here, her nose is protected. The cold can't get to it.

Root’s small and warm keeper struggles to get at something inside her coat as Root continues to strangle her.

“Fucking Carter,” she curses again. Opening the door of the building, she keeps it propped open with a foot, grabbing Root’s waist with both hands. Pushing Root away. But her hands are cold where they touch the sliver of skin suddenly exposed when Root’s shirt rides up.

Root hisses against the icy touch, leaning back and getting ready to tell her off. But her friend's faster than her and pulls her off herself and into the building before Root realises what's happening. Now that she's lost her grip on the body that was keeping her upright, Root’s head begins to spin again. She groans, a hand flying up to her mouth as she feels the sickness rising up her throat.

A pair of icy cold fingers, the same ones as before, grab her arm. “Oh, no you don't! Don't you dare throw up in here, Root! Come on, we're almost home.”

If Root opens her mouth, it's the end of the game for her. She barely manages to shake her head, eyes closed shut, fist on her lips. She's unable to take even two steps, how can Hanna expect her to walk all the way to her apartment like this?

Fire rapid, rushing through her veins, her blood swirls in her head, inundating her ear canal, suddenly the only sound she can hear in her left ear. The pumping of her heartbeat accompanies it, both sounds creating a rhythm that Root knows a particular someone would probably like to make music with.

“Do _not_ throw up on me,” the angry voice says. “Fuck.”

Suddenly, Root’s being lifted off the ground by strong arms around her back and legs. She couldn't fight it even if she weren't so wasted. She can't open her eyes, but she's sure it's Hanna because she smells of cigarette smoke, life before. The movement starts another bout of pain in her belly, making her squirm in her friend's arms, burrowing further into her body. She thinks maybe they’re in an elevator. Her head rests against Hanna’s chest, her whimpering noises the only thing helping her not to vomit. She feels Hanna stiffen her arms around her as she carries her.

Tears start pricking at Root’s eyes. She buries her head deeper into Hanna’s chest, trying to make the pain go away. She didn't tell her everything she wanted her to know the last time she saw her, and now, knowing Hanna’s mad at her again is making every bitter memory rush back up to the surface.

The softest of sobs leaves her lips, hitting Hanna in the chest. At least it's warm in here, Root thinks.

“I have to open the door, Root.”

Root doesn't know what to say. Her tired mind is beginning to shut down, the firewall she put in place ages ago finally kicking in. Root can feel her body drifting off, her defence mechanism booting up.

“Of course,” says the voice.

Root’s moved around a little as Hanna manages to get the key in the lock and open the door, walking in with Root still in her arms a moment later.

She doesn't want to fall asleep, she still has so much she wants to say to Hanna, things she didn't get a chance to say before. But she's powerless against the Sandman, and barely gets to say three words before sleep takes a hold of her.

“I'm sorry, Hanna,” she whispers as her mind shuts down.  

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Root smells of sorrow and tequila. She holds onto Sameen’s neck, sobbing into her coat, her tears wetting all the way to her t-shirt. She becomes a dead weight in Sam's arms as she opens the door, as she carries her inside the apartment where Joss’s and John's heavy breathing resounds through the walls.

 _I'm sorry_ , Root said. The words echo in Sameen’s mind, their meaning clear, but the emotions behind them not. Hanna, she called her.

Sameen might have trouble making the necessary connections in her neurons to process feelings, but she gets the need to drown the world out in alcohol. To numb the sounds.

In her arms, Root keeps making small noises that alert Sam to her discomfort. It's no wonder, with everything Sam saw her ingest, but she knows that's not all. The heavy blanket on Root’s shoulders, Sameen is sure she stole it from a ghost.

It's not that late. Sam finished her set rather early, her colleague Frankie replacing her when she was done. Usually, Sameen would stick around; she actually enjoyed the other girl's work.

But the wide eyed look Root had given her when she'd realised she'd been all but giving Sameen a private dance had been enough to make up Sam's mind. That, and the fact that she'd seen half her friends missing from the table as Root found her way to it, Joss and John bolting soon after.

She seriously could not believe her friends. How horny and desperate do you have to be to abandon the girl you brought along, in a nightclub filled with potential creeps? Sameen’s hands ball into fists, her breath coming up short, making it that much harder to deposit Root on her bed.

Root’s previous strength now faded, Sameen can untangle her arms from her neck easily. She sighs, looking down at the long figure stretched lazily over the covers. In her black skinny jeans and leather jacket, Root dreams of someone Sam would like to know more about.

Which is ridiculous, she knows that. But this Hanna person, a complete stranger to Sameen, is suddenly becoming a very interesting topic. What could she have done to break Root so? Sam didn't even think something like this could be possible. In her eyes, Root was a mysterious figure, a woman with a secret life and smiles and flirting for days.

Perhaps she should thank Joss, instead of threatening to cut her off any time she got something started with John when she's around. If not for Joss’s insistent nature, Sam wouldn't have learnt all she now knows about Root. And Sameen doesn't like it when she barely knows a person she has to deal with on a daily basis.

Sam pulls her jacket off, throws it on a chair. Her thumb and index pinch the bridge of her nose, her breathing trying to find a more normal pace. She works her jaw, realising that Root’s not gonna move for anything. The whimpering’s back as Root buries her face in her pillow. There's no getting her up to take her to the bathroom now.

“Shit,” she whispers, hands on her hips. Her foot taps on the floor, her brain racing to make a decision.

And really, she sees no alternative. She would want someone to do the same for her if she found herself in Root’s shoes. Not that she would ever let herself get so shitfaced, but still.

Sameen goes to the kitchen and finds a bucket. From the bathroom she gets a towel, runs it under the tap. Remembering about the importance of drinking water, she returns to the kitchen, trying and failing miserably not to listen to John grunting in Joss’s room, and takes a bottle of water from the fridge. Items in hand, she brings everything to the bedroom, where Root’s mumbling again.

As she takes off Root’s jacket, she thinks she hears the name Hanna again. She rolls her eyes, pursing her mouth. Root’s hair sticks to her neck, so Sam moves it away and dabs at the spot with the moist towel. The sound of a delighted moan makes her fingers tingle where they touch Root’s neck.

The open back of the halter top she's wearing reveals just enough skin to make Sameen groan. She's seen the girl wearing less, damn it. But the plane of her back, that's a sight that haunts her. Excites her.

Sameen gets up from where she was sitting on Root’s bed. She's done more than enough. The tension she's been feeling ever since watching Root walk into the club hasn't gone anywhere. This is as far as she'll go. The last thing she does for Root is take her boots off and cover her with her sheets, arranging the blankets over her sleeping form.

She listens to her even breathing once she gets into bed herself. She tells herself it's to monitor Root and make sure she doesn't throw up outside of the bucket she left by her head. But she knows that, really, she's waiting to see if more secrets will spill from her lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drama makes for a good story. But I promise you, I'll make it better. :)


	9. 5.5: Social Media - Part Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your kind comments! They're a writer's soul food! :D  
> It's there in the tags, but I feel like I should warn you again. The angst *is* coming. I don't know how to write without it!   
> Written chapter will be up tomorrow.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam's IG graphic by @rootingforshaws  
> Made with help from Mars :)


	10. SIX

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't get drunk, kids.

Root doesn't remember much of last night. What little she does remember has the power to bring forth both a smile to her lips and a twinge to her heart.

Also, her stomach is acting like a bitch. And her head's not that far behind.

Grace and Joss managed what few people have accomplished over the years: to make her feel at ease among strangers. Not that the girls are complete strangers to Root, but they don't know that. Still, knowing about a person and actually _knowing_ _the_ _person_ are completely different things, as she discovered yesterday, as well as all these days living with them.

A groan fills the room, and Root’s ready to disappear beneath her covers when she realises that the sound came from herself. A quick glance at the other bed reveals that Sameen is not even in the room.

Which is great. Root’s not sure she's ready to face her just yet.

The taste of the tequila burning her lips vibrates through her body like a string that's been played too hard (her strings being her intestines, mind you). This is exactly why Root doesn't do alcohol. The pounding in her head is not worth it.

But, then again, she's never found the point in getting wasted alone. Being with the girls last night awoke something in her, something she'd never had and never thought she'd find. For once it felt nice to let go, to see what would happen. Even if the boys had found her a tad weird, all she cared about was the girls and how included they made her feel.

A small smile blossoms in Root as she remembers Joss shouting across the table to make her point about a specific something be heard, or how Root’s own tongue got twisted, reverting back to her old accent, the one she'd abandoned in Texas when she left without looking back. She giggles, the image of Grace's lovely eyes widening when she could finally hear Root speaking with a twang in her voice filling her thoughts.

A rumble from her stomach takes her smile away, puts a lasso on the images she was pushing back, and brings them to the forefront of her brain. Images of Sameen, up in her DJ booth, cloaked by darkness and the right amount of neon lighting.

Alcohol is a cruel friend, only showing you what your heart wants to see. Root could swear she saw the fire in Sam's dark eyes, the same desire she felt raging inside herself. She stood there, in the crowd, running diagnostics on the many possibilities of why Sameen would be looking at her like that. And her inebriated mind found no other explanation than the fact that Sameen wanted her. Nothing more. She isn't the kind of girl to get involved in relationships, Root knows that much.

 _So maybe,_ her drunk self had said _, if she wants me, I could indulge in her, just for tonight? If I keep my eyes on her and analyse her reactions to my movements, to the way my body performs the commands my brain is writing, dictating lines of code beyond my control. Maybe then this itch will go away and I'll be able to live beside her knowing that I don't have to wonder_ what if _anymore._

In between the writhing mass of panting humans, Root had danced without giving much thought to anyone else. Until her eyes had opened and the sight that had greeted her had been like a bullet to the chest.

Sameen’s frown had the power to destabilise her even from far away. Her head tilted to the side, mouth pursed in concentration, she'd watched Root almost as if she were trying to determine if she should call for help or not. So much for being able to read people, thought Root.

Yeah, alcohol was something Root wouldn't be ingesting again anytime soon.

 

Root stays in bed until she can't ignore her hunger anymore. Her hair smells like an ashtray and she's been sleeping in her clothes, the smells of the previous night clinging to the sheets.

She's not sure how she got in bed. Maybe one of the girls brought her home. Joss, probably.

It's a struggle to get up, to pull herself out of her warm cocoon. Her bare feet hit the cold floor and a shiver shoots up her spine, her toes curling at the sensation.  Root runs a hand through her tangled hair, deciding a shower is the next item on her to-do list, right after having breakfast. Or lunch. What time is it anyway?

She looks to her left, to Sameen’s already made bed, and can't help but wonder where she might be. Is she avoiding Root? Is it early enough for her to be out on her morning run? That's probably it. Sameen doesn't strike Root as someone who would purposely avoid a confrontation. Just the opposite, actually.

Root’s brain makes a somersault inside her head as she bends down to fish her slippers from under her bed. This Sunday morning is cold enough to make her take Joss’s top off and put on an old long-sleeved t-shirt of her own, a sweater over it. As she's changing, her phone buzzes, still in her jacket’s pocket.

A text from Jason lights up her screen. Apparently, they need her. Yeah well, she needs food and an aspirin. Yawning, Root writes him just that and sends the message. She throws her phone on her bed before leaving the room.

Groaning and hushed voices reach her ear, the space of the living room amplifying the sounds as she moves towards the kitchen. Root opens the door that connects both spaces, finds Grace and Joss sitting at the table. They're both nursing coffee cups, instantly lifting Root’s mood.

The sunlight seeping in through the kitchen window hits the girls from behind, enveloping them in a lovely halo, and Root wishes she had her camera in her hands to take a picture. But, now that she pays closer attention, the sun’s halfway down in the sky.

“What time is it?” she asks, her voice coming out broken and small. She yawns, walking to the table and sitting down. Her head is acting up again.

“Four,” Grace says. She's the most composed of the three, Joss looking very much like Root’s feeling.

“In the afternoon?” Grace hums in acknowledgement. “Can I have some coffee?”

“Sure, hon,” says Grace, smiling at her.

Joss rests an elbow on the table, hand on her cheek, and turns to Root. “So, you got home alright? I'm sorry I bailed, Root. Honest.”

Grace sets a mug of hot coffee in front of Root, but she barely notices it. Joss’s words are suddenly shifting Root’s perception of the night before, her heart beginning to race in her chest.  

Her eyes widen as she says, “I didn't come home with you?”

Grace folds her arms over her chest, looks a bit angry at Joss.

“Uh, no,” Joss tells her, ashamed. She picks at the edge of her mug with purple nails. “I left with John. You looked like you weren't going anywhere, so I texted Shaw to let her know we were leaving without you.”

Root can't look away from Joss, but she's not focusing on her, either. A dozen other images she'd thought had been the product of wishful thinking and her own intoxicated state are running around her head, trying to make themselves known. Trying to convince her that she hadn't been dreaming.

Because she'd already ruled out the possibility of Hanna having been with her last night, and -if Grace had already been gone, and Joss had left soon after- that only left her with one possible alternative.

“Sameen brought me home?”

Joss looks up from her mug. Her brows droop as much as the corners of her lips. “I already heard it all from her, and I'm sorry, Root.”

Root inhales sharply, loudly. Blinking, she looks at Joss, trying to determine how much she knows, how much Sameen heard, because her memories are a mess and she's not clear on what actually happened and what was just in her head.

“What did she say?”

“She told her off,” Grace intervenes from her chair across the table. “I'd told Joss I was planning on leaving with Harold, and we'd agreed she'd stay with you.”

“Shaw was pissed I'd left you alone, and she's totally right. I'm sorry, really. It won't happen again.”

But… that's it?

That's all Sameen told them. Not a word about Hanna.

The pressure, it lifts, expanding her ribs, allowing her to breathe. Root’s chest feels lighter than it has all day, and a sudden smile begins to curve her lips, her eyes on a spot on the floor, disorienting Grace and Joss.

The girls exchange a look while Root brings her mug to her lips, her smile still in place.

“Don't worry about it, Joss,” she says. “Really. I'm at fault here too, I should have stopped after that second tequila. Speaking of, is there something to eat? My stomach is killing me.”

Joss blinks a few times, her jaw hanging open.

“I made pancakes,” says Grace. “But they'll be cold now.”

Root looks at her over the edge of her mug, black nails against white ceramic. “Oh, that's fine. I'm starving.”

 

She goes back to bed right after her late breakfast. The girls informed her that Sam had gone to the local children's centre to help her friend Cole with some activities the centre had planned for the weekend. Cole had called her at around noon to ask if she was busy, they were a staff member down and could use the help. Sameen had gotten changed and left right away. She wouldn't be back for a few more hours.

Root discovers that the best way to calm her headache is to sleep it off. She didn't have a shower, but seriously, all she wants is to stay in bed. Her phone buzzes right next to her head, under the pillow, but fuck it. Let the boys handle a little problem without her for once. She left the program running just fine. They should be okay until tomorrow.

As her mind begins to drift off, the feeling of a strong hold around her comes back, ghost touches making her skin tingle as she tries to make the memory less fuzzy.

Here's what she remembers: the freezing cold, walking with a person she'd thought was Hanna, but now knows was not. Feeling like the world was collapsing under her, and holding on to a warm body, an anchor to help her through the worst of it.

She thinks she remembers sobbing into her chest, the smell of the nightclub also attached to her clothes, but sleep is reclaiming her and she cannot be sure.

 

“Root.

“Root. Wake up.”

“Hmm?”

The fog is thick in Root’s eyes. She has to rub at them to clear it away. Root swallows, smacking her lips and looking at the figure towering over her.

Sameen is standing right next to her, the bedroom light on, shining above her head. She doesn't say anything else as Root looks at her, searching for anything that might tell her what is going on inside Sam’s head.

Sameen frowns at her, her lips jutting out in a cute annoyed gesture. She rolls her eyes, sighs, and it's the best sound Root has heard all day. Makes her grin grow without her noticing.

Sam shakes her head, and suddenly, a water bottle is presented to Root. She sits up, takes it. “Here,” Sameen says. She thrusts a pill in Root’s hand. “Drink that. It'll help.”

There are no words. Just this elation inside her soul, strings pulling at Root’s lips, lifting her spirits up. Root takes the bottle but doesn't look anywhere that isn't at Sameen. Her smile only grows as Sam crosses her arms, her eyebrows lifting as she pointedly waits for Root to do as she's told. She can't contain her giggle as she takes the pill, downing half the bottle of water.

Sam nods, extending her hand to take the bottle away. Root gives it to her, maintaining eye contact, diverting Sam's attention from what she's about to do next.

Root’s left hand flies up to Sam's shoulder, almost at her same eye level now that she's sitting up in her bed. Sameen freezes. Root sees her jaw working, her eyes growing wide. She knows that Sam doesn't like this kind of thing, so she keeps it short. Her hand squeezes gently, runs down the length of her arm, just once. Comes to rest on Sameen’s wrist. Squeezes one more time.

Only when Root stops touching her does Sameen let out the breath she'd been holding.

Sam keeps looking at the spot where Root’s hand was a second ago.

“I don't remember much of last night,” Root says. “But I know you took care of me.”

“That wasn't… I didn't _take care_ of you. I just brought you home. It's not like I could leave you at the club like that.”

Root tilts her head to the side, considering her. She offers her a small smile, realising for the first time that it's become a habit of hers around Sameen. She's not sure if it's a good thing; she doesn't want to get used to the feeling. But for now it's okay. For now, she won't overthink it.

“I know,” Root tells her, growing suddenly serious. “But, thank you, Sameen. Really.”

Sam purses her lips a bit more, analysing Root’s words. She rolls her eyes, huffing and shaking her head. “Whatever. If you'd thrown up on me, we wouldn't be having this conversation.” She turns around, walks to the bedroom door, leaving the light on. “Take a shower, please,” she says, stopping by the door. “You don't smell too good. The room's starting to reek.”

Root watches as Sam's eyes wander over her, probably noticing her change of clothes.

Sam's wearing her grey NYU sweatshirt again, the one Root loves so much. And Root can't help but fall back into her old habit.

Sameen made sure she came home safely. She walked her home, let her hold her even when Root knows how much that makes her uncomfortable. She put her to bed and left a bucket by her head, just in case. And now she brought her a much needed aspirin, and if that's not the actual definition of ‘taking care’ of someone, Root doesn't know what is.

Just as Sameen is about to leave, Root gives her one of her trademark smirks, complete with a bite of her lip, and says, “Whatever you say, sweetie.”

Root swears she can hear Sameen cursing under her breath as she walks away. It puts a smile on her face, and a feeling that is starting to make itself at home inside of her heart.


	11. 6.5: Moodboard - ROOT

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song chosen by @rootingforshaws


	12. SEVEN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like this fic, tell your friends! Find me on Tumblr @ellainthetardis :)

 

 

Three years. Thirty-six months of just going through the motions. Granted, her life isn't much different than it was before, when she was still here. But the days turned bleaker the second her eyes closed, the moment she was gone. The day the fog in Root’s brain turned so murky and thick, she couldn't see past it anymore.

Until now.

“Root,” a voice says, bringing her out of her thoughts. Jason. “We're in.”

All this time, she's been drifting without a set course, a ship without a captain or compass of any sort. Caught in the eye of the storm, reluctant to allow anyone on board.

The keys welcome her strokes, the sound of her nails typing almost like the beat to a song. Behind her, the boys watch and learn in silence as Root performs a masterclass in deception. A black piece of fabric covers the small window high on the wall, and still a sliver of light manages to break through.

Perhaps, when the raging waves have calmed, it will be time to finally make it back to shore.

 

Different school and work hours mean that the girls barely get to see each other, mostly only crossing paths at night. The apartment's all but empty during the day, Root its only occupant. The silence hangs heavy now that she's grown used to her roommates’ loud voices, so she usually turns on Sam’s stereo in the living room, loud enough for her to hear it all the way in her bedroom.

She doesn't even know which station she tuned, only that it's an electronic music station full of songs she doesn't recognise, apart from the few Sameen spinned a few weeks ago at the Mean Machine.

The building's old, thick structure is either a curse or a blessing during cold days. It can turn the apartment into a fridge, or keep the warmth in when the girls crank the heat up before leaving. Grace has placed foam weatherstrips on the windows, sealing the apartment completely shut. Today’s a good day, the only cold things in here are the floors, but that's what socks and slippers are for.

By now, Root’s learned the girls’ schedule by heart. She knows Joss will be at the library until dinner time, since she claims the atmosphere of that place is the only thing giving her the proper state of mind to study. Grace works afternoons at the coffee shop, also getting home for dinner. And Sameen, she's the busiest of the three.

When she's not in class, she's either running, or at the gym lifting more weights than Root thought a short girl like her could lift, or kicking someone's ass sparring at the rink, _for money_. Root would be lying if she said that the only reason the apartment's become her headquarters is because it's empty. That is one of her reasons, yeah, but really, as she types away on her laptop, her mind split between her work and the clock on her screen, she is just waiting to see Sam walk in, skin flushed red from her workout and the cold.

Root barely notices the sun going down, she's so focused on writing this program. She told Daizo she'd have it fixed for him by morning, but honestly, the kid's made so many mistakes, Root’s basically having to write it all over again.

Plunged in darkness, the only source of light in the room is coming from Root’s computer. The blue glow emanating from her screen bounces off her glasses, blinding her to her surroundings. Her long hair provides her with a curtain of privacy, falling on either side of her face.

One leg stretched out in front of her, the other tucked under her body, the heat coming out of Root’s computer all but burns her lap, forcing her to stop her work. Root’s eyelids drift closed. She sets the laptop beside her on the bed, rubs her eyes under her glasses. Her spine is so tense, she stretches her arms over her head, back arching.

Root releases a yawn only meant for her ear, arms still in the air. What she hears instead makes her body tingle.

A loud exhale, a wince (of what, Root can't be sure). A sharp intake of breath. The combination almost resembles those sounds reserved for pleasure. The music, invading Root’s hearing, makes it impossible for her to distinguish much more. Maybe the small moan she thought she heard was just in her head. She didn't even hear the door opening, or steps coming closer.

Root opens her eyes, letting her arms fall. She doesn't need confirmation to know who's standing there, and in the two seconds it takes her to make her decision, she knows it's the right one.

Sameen stands just outside the bedroom door, her shoulder against the frame, looking very much like she walked into it and stayed there. Just as Root is opening her eyes, Sameen closes her mouth. Root sees her trying to control her breathing, the rise and fall of her chest a clear indicator of Sameen’s state of mind.

There is not one thing Root doesn't know about her. Sameen is the most fascinating person Root’s had the chance to study. Everything about her is precise, carefully put together, a collection of cause and effect meant to better her in her own way, not the way the world would expect of her.

To Root, that is like writing poetry, thinking of verses meant to hold meaning only to the writer. Never conforming to the world's expectations.

So perhaps it is better this way. Maybe being close to a person who's incapable of forming familial bonds with others is just what Root needs. When the pain in her chest after Hanna was gone had lifted, Root’s work became the only thing in her mind. Her chosen career took her through dark alleys, cloaked in secrets, so into the place of no return, that Root learnt a while back that she would have no one by her side.

Hers is a road meant to be walked alone. Even if someone asked her to let them join her, Root would never subject them to the shadows.

But Sameen’s eyes are like a flashlight in the dark fog around her, a beacon Root’s finding herself more attracted to by the day. So yes, choosing to move in here may have been the smartest choice after all.

Sameen’s impulses could never grow past the point of desire, Root has done her research. If Root were to evoke something in her, it would be want, lust, need, and nothing more. She wouldn't be lost to the darkness, because she wouldn't follow Root into it in the first place.

Sameen is safe from the world. Something Root tries to emulate every single day.

Root just needs to keep herself distanced, and she'll be safe from it too.

Sameen hasn't made a move, too busy with giving her sight free rein over her other senses. She's home early, otherwise she wouldn't have found Root like this, in her nest of a bed, Sameen’s pillows propping her up against her wooden headboard. Her eyes travel south, over Root’s legs, a pair of shorts not made for this weather and long socks the only fabric covering them. Root’s sure Sameen saw a sliver of her belly when she stretched because her eyes are moving over that same spot now. And she's having trouble swallowing.

Root would be lying if she said her own desire doesn't burn as bright as Sameen’s. Looking at her, grinning at the way Sameen’s pouting in annoyance at having been discovered checking her out, Root begins to work up a plan, a course of action.

She's thankful for Sameen’s inability to care deeply about people. This way, Root doesn't have to worry about getting her hurt, not too much anyway. It's her own heart she'll have to keep safe. And she intends to do just that.

“Hi, Sam,” she croons, enjoying the look Sam's giving her as she lays back on her pillows. “You're home early.”

“The prof was sick,” Sameen replies, bored. Her eyes can't seem to settle on Root’s, instead choosing to roam over her bare skin.

Root finds it adorable, the way Sameen’s nostrils flare like an angry dragon’s. But she can't let herself do that, find these quirks of her cute.

Easier said than done.

Sameen shakes her head, finally entering the room. She drops her backpack in the ground by the desk, opens her drawer and pulls out a clean black tank top. Her hand grabs it tighter than necessary, making it into a rag in her fist. She stomps out of the room, calling back to Root as she goes.

“Stop that for a while and go to the kitchen. I brought cupcakes from that place Carter is always raving about.”

As if on cue, Root’s stomach begins to growl. And maybe Sameen hears it, for she pops her head back into the room while Root’s getting up from her bed.

“The coconut one is mine,” she says. She points her index at her, like a parent chastising her child.

Root feels her smile grow. She walks closer, rests her hand on Sam's shoulder for a second, letting it drop before it becomes too much for Sameen. “Of course it is, sweetie. And anyway, I'm more of an apples girl myself.”

Sameen leaves her there, still smiling, and makes her way to the bathroom. “Make some coffee, will you?”

“Sure, Sam,” she says, watching Sameen close the bathroom door.

Maybe she won't have to keep Sameen out of the shadows. Maybe she's already halfway there.

 

Cool air whips around her, her woolen hat providing her a measure of comfort as her hair blows about. It gets right in front of her camera lens’ line of sight. She has to tuck it behind an ear that's red from the cold.

It's worth it, though. With the sun falling prematurely in the sky at this early hour, the coffee shop’s already turned on its many lights, allowing Root to take as many photos as she wants, with as many lighting changes as she pleases, by just adjusting her camera's settings.

She lets her reflection show in one picture, focuses on the patrons on the other side of the glass in another. Some look at her, some don't, accustomed to having tourists snap photos of every and any New Yorker sight. Then her third eye finds them, sitting at the same table they always occupy. And she gives herself permission to stare at their backs, _her_ back, giving free rein to her imagination.

These past few weeks have been nothing if not educational. Root can tell just by looking at Sameen’s back, sitting stock still, arms crossed, that she's as excited to be here as she'd be in Hell. Not a very comfortable situation. Root’s pretty sure the only thing tempting enough to make Sameen come here regularly are the pastries that Grace charges them half price for. And the coffee. The coffee's great, too.

And Root can't blame her, either. Who'd want to be sitting next to the sweetest, caramel-dripping, most disgusting couple Root’s ever seen? Someone needs to tell Joss to keep the PDA kid-friendly. Root doesn't know much about John apart from his major and his bank account balance. The guy has barely left a digital footprint on the Net, and that's something Root can very well respect.

In her mind, Root’s been filing data from past days in order of importance. She has yet to acknowledge it, but the folder labelled ‘Sameen’ is the thickest of them all. Root’s no psychiatrist, but it still fascinates her to watch and analyse Sameen according to her personality disorder’s description.

True to her nature, Sameen chooses to be alone most of the time. The only close bonds she seems to have are with Grace and Joss, needing no one else. Gossip bores her, only catching her attention when it's information she can later use, if need be.

But there are some aspects in which she diverges from the main description of her disorder. Traits that make her unique.

Root knows she can't experience emotions like others, or exteriorise them in a socially acceptable manner. But Sameen’s sense of duty is probably greater than anyone else's Root’s ever known. Grace was right in calling her the mum of the group. It is what drives her to perform activities she would otherwise refuse to be a part of. The need to strive, to achieve perfection is not uncommon for people with her PD. It's their coping mechanism, how they wish to make up for what they're told they're “lacking” in.

Fucking socially constructed norms. So damn restrictive.

Root’s noticed the change in Sameen, from the day she moved in, up until now. Before, she would leave the apartment as soon as she could and not come back until it was absolutely necessary. But when Root made it clear she didn't need Sameen to be constantly talking to her like Joss or Grace, that she was fine with leaving the room to allow Sameen to have more space, that was when Sam began coming come more often. Not that much -she is still busy-, but often enough to check that Root had eaten that day.

On the occasions Root had to be out all day for her work, she'd come home to a frowning Sameen, who would look her over and shove a plate of food in her hands.

And every time, Root couldn't help but feel like she was being initiated into her pack.

Perhaps she'll regret this later, perhaps she shouldn't have come at all. But Grace insisted, and after working on a Trojan for all of two days, this is something Root finds herself craving more and more as the days go by. The jury’s still out on this one. And Root continues to gather evidence on her case against bad codes.

Maybe these people will tip the scales. It'll be interesting to see to which side of it that happens.

Breathing in the crisp air one more time, Root opens the shop’s door, camera in hand. Saturdays bring people out of their homes, even in this awful weather. The coffee shop is full of patrons, all contrasting beautifully against the wooden panels on the walls, the whites and browns that crowd the place. Root lifts her camera to her eye, a reflex meant to capture light before it fades, before it is forever altered. She puts on her fake smile, the one she knows will calm these strangers and make her look accessible to them. Again, they pay her little mind as she snaps away.

She finds Grace on the far right corner of the shop, apron tied to her waist, notepad in hand. Grace’s smile, unlike hers, is genuine, warm. It spreads to her whole face, igniting a light behind her eyes. She hasn't noticed Root, none of them have. Root is still standing close to the door, to have a larger focal range, to be able to play with the tele lens she equipped her camera with this morning.

She should have known it wouldn't take her long to locate her. Sometimes Root would swear Sameen had been trained by the military, but of course she knows she hasn't.

“Root?” she hears Sameen say, her frown clear even in her voice.

Without lowering her camera, Root turns to her. Watching her through the lens like she's done before. Only this time is different. This time she's not hiding.

Root loves the way the light from outside casts a glow on Sameen’s back, how the fluorescents from the inside collide with the sunlight and create shadows on Sam's olive skin. Her index triggers the button that tells the camera to record this moment in time, to save it in case her mind forgets it. Not that that's likely, Root thinks. But just in case.

“Hi, honey,” she says, walking to sit in front of Sameen. She glances at Joss and John, still attached at the mouths. “You look like you’re having fun,” she tells Sam with a grin.

Root is highly aware of Sameen’s eyes on her camera as she removes the strap from her neck and leaves it on the table. She looks directly at her while taking her jacket off, depositing it on the back of her chair. But the ever-deepening frown on Sam's face says more than anything she could voice.

Joss lets go of John, at last, and smiles at Root with swollen lips. “Hey girl! You made it!”

John blinks, looking around, clearing his throat. When he spots Root, he nods solemnly at her. “Hi, Root.”

“John,” she says. It's more than enough. In the weeks they've known each other, both John and Root have come to a mutual understanding. John seems like he can read Root better than she'd like him to, and John knows Root could bring him down if she so wanted. So they keep to themselves, silently accepting a truce in favour of the girls.

“That camera yours?” Joss asks. “Girl, you didn't say you were a photographer!”

“I don't know. It never popped up.”

“What? You believe this?” Joss turns to ask John, who merely shakes his head. Joss laughs and swats at his arm, and before they know, they're back at it again.

Root rolls up her sleeves, looks at Sameen and finds her gaze still fixed on Root’s camera. Root doesn't have to ask her what's up. She guesses Sameen is trying to reconcile this new piece of data with what little of herself Root’s shared with them. And she's not wrong.

Before Sameen’s brain bursts from exertion, Root decides to take the lead. Forearms on the table, she leans in, smiling at Sam across from her. “Wanna see them?”

Sameen sighs, works her jaw. After a second, she nods. “Yeah.”

Root’s smile grows. She fidgets in her seat, turning the camera back on and handing it over to Sameen. Her teeth trap her lower lip without her realising it. Her nails click on the surface of the table, her breathing quickening. The first photo is the one she just took of Sameen, and her heart is pounding in agony.

For all her days analysing Sameen’s reactions, Root sure can't figure out what she's thinking now. So she watches her bring the camera up to eye level, still looking at herself in the tiny screen. Her frown’s gone. Her eyes trace the photo back and forth, up and down.

And then, without warning, she moves on to the next one. And the next. Sameen stays silent as she goes through many of the photos Root has taken over the course of the week. She clicks on the buttons slowly but surely, turning the camera to better appreciate the images, and Root’s heart picks up speed.

“Uh,” she mutters, taking the camera from Sam's hands. She lets her fingers brush over hers, grinning at the reaction she elicits from Sameen, seeing her eyes widening. “I still have to edit them,” Root lies.

The brushing of the fingers, was that to throw Sameen off, or did she do it for her own benefit? _Jesus_. It was to distract Sam. That's it.

Then why doesn't it feel like it? Why is her mind replaying the feeling of Sameen’s rough skin against hers?

Damn it. She's freaking losing it.

In order to get her mind back to its normal function, Root picks up her backpack from the floor where she left it, putting the camera back into it. Her tongue wets her lips, and a nervous giggle escapes her mouth, and before she looks back up, she pushes a strand of hair behind an ear and puts on a fake smile.

A smile she knows Sameen can see right through.

But instead of calling on her bullshit like she thought she would do, Sameen’s next words manage to knock the breath right out of her.

It's such a rare sight that Root is almost mad at herself for not having her camera in her hands to capture this image.

Sameen is smiling at her, unguardedly, her lip curving to the side, watching Root as if she could read her secrets in her eyes.

Maybe she can. Maybe Root would like that.

“Bring your camera to the club tonight,” Sameen tells her, biting her own lip. “I don't have any pictures of me at work.”

Who cares if Joss and John and the entire world are witnessing this crack in Root’s mask? Certainly not her. Not when Sameen is inviting her into her own private world and Root is feeling like she's free falling, the wind hitting her face making her smile grow. Sam doesn't seem to mind it, either. Her eyes haven't left Root’s and it's almost like she's giving her permission to look deep inside of her.

So, of course, Root says, “I'd like that, sweetheart.”

There's no need for more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just another friendly reminder: English is not my first language, so if you spot anything that I should fix, let me know! I won't be mad, just the opposite.


	13. 7.5: Social Media - Part Five

 

* * *

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Root’s IG graphics and general help by @themachine (aka Mars)
> 
> And yes, that is totally one of the photos Root took of Sameen at the coffee shop ;)


	14. EIGHT

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so happy right now and I love you all so much! We did it!

 

It has been forty minutes, and Sameen is ready to sucker punch Joss to infinity and beyond. She can't take much more of this. Why did she even agree to let Joss pick her outfit for tonight, again? It's just for work.

“It's not _just_ for work,” Joss chides. “Don't you wanna look good in your photos?”

Sameen shuts her eyes, takes a deep, calming breath. Joss is making this sound like this decision could alter the course of human history. “How I look is not that important, Carter,” she seethes.

Well, it's the truth. Standing in the middle of Joss’s and Grace's room, the photo Root took of her at the coffee shop this afternoon pops back into her mind. Shadows and lighting converging on her features, making her face stand out from the background like what you see in the movies. It was a view of herself she had never seen before. Even in her simple outfit of a hoodie and jeans, Root had managed to capture something that reminded Sameen of the songs she spins at the club, the music that speaks to her.

She'd been frowning, something her mother had always told her not to do during family portraits. But Root, she had seen her scowl and simply taken the photo. Never asking her to smile. And still managing to make her look… _what?_ , Sam thinks.

Oh. _That's it._ She'd taken her picture and made her look like a completely different person. Like the Sam that lived inside her mind but didn't know how to be around others.

So, yes, Sameen is still letting Joss play dress up with her. But not because she wants to look nice for her photos.

She's merely intrigued by how deeper into her brain Root can dig with the lens of her camera.

 

Strobe lights and the smoke machine Tomas installed last year fill the nightclub’s atmosphere. Usually, Sameen doesn't complain about them. It's not like she ever wants to see what goes on in this place. The DJ booth is the only room in here that interests her. Okay, and the bar, too.

Tonight, though, she's ready to ask the gaffer to freaking kill the strobe lights. It's making it impossible to see anything with its continued flashing. And there aren't even that many people in the club at this “early” hour.

“I have to be upstairs in fifteen,” she says to no one in particular. Standing next to her table, Sameen tugs at the hem of the ridiculously tight black crop top Joss made her wear. More than a few eyes have fixed on her, but a single look from her sends the unwanteds away. The fact that she's also wearing jean shorts doesn't seem to be helping, either. “They won't let her up if she doesn't come with me. I thought you said you texted her,” she tells Grace.

Damn, why is this even considered a shirt? One of her sports bras could cover more skin. She's never again letting Carter choose her outfit. At least she drew the line on which shoes she'd wear. No way she can work in heels. Hard pass.

Sitting in their usual booth beside Joss and John, Grace purses her mouth in a weird way, watching Sameen struggle to somehow duplicate the amount of fabric that's on her. Is she trying not to laugh in Sameen’s face? At least Joss is not even pretending to keep a straight face.

“I _did_ ,” Grace says, trying to hide her smile. “She just had to go home and change real quick. She didn't want to come here with all her stuff either, you know? Her laptop and stuff?”

This is useless. Sameen might as well surrender. “Oh,” she says, leaving the top alone. “Yeah.”

She remembers now. Root had had her backpack full at the coffee shop because she had to go write a paper at a classmate’s afterwards. Sameen hadn't seen her again since five fifteen pm.

Not that she was counting…

You know what. _Whatever_.

“She better be here soon. I have to go set everything up _now_.”

A leering voice in her ear freezes her on the spot. “If I'd known you were that eager to see me, Sam…”

Sameen blames the music, the darkness, the few people that come early to the club, that keep watching her, for clouding her senses. Suddenly, hands are on her shoulders, skin against skin, and she recognises the soft fingers that are touching her.

Which is why she hasn't broken them yet. She's not a stranger to her touch. Hasn't been for a while.

“I would have come earlier.”

Why does she have to say it like that? An exhalation filled with double entendres sneaking into Sam's ear canal, burning a path as it goes?

The newcomer’s hands don't linger. They're gone as soon as Sam starts to get uncomfortable. But now that her skin remembers the softness of that touch, her brain is starting to ask for more.

Just to see what would happen. To test her boundaries, that's all.

With her back still to her, Sameen does the heaviest eye-rolling in the history of mankind. Complete with a deep sigh and everything.

Then she turns around… and feels her jaw lock into place.

She can't stop her eyes from widening, they have a mind of their own. But she still controls the rest of her body, and that's what she damn well does. Her hands ball into fists at her sides. One breath in. Another breath out. A few more like this, and Sameen regains a bit of her usual composure.

She knows what makes for an attractive physique. Knows which qualities are considered above average, what others like and dislike. She's heard people tell her she's gorgeous, but had never really understood how to connect the concept to herself. She's even inventoried those aspects that appeal to her in others.

But she'd never been here, under the cover of darkness and flashing lights, in front of _her_.

A tightness that she's beginning to associate with her makes its presence known, clenching her lungs, making Sameen fight for breath. Her teeth hurt, but she refuses to loosen her jaw for fear it might hang open, like she's seen other idiots’ do. And the path Root’s gaze is carving on her body is only making it worse, causing a short circuit in her brain.

Sameen has known for a few weeks that Root watches her. She's sensed her eyes on her when Root thinks she's busy with her books or her training. She's found her blatantly staring multiple times, smiling when Sam looked her way, challenging her to stay something.

Sameen could only roll her eyes then. It wasn't like Root was touching her, and Sam wasn't a stranger to allowing herself to stare at people, to understand them better. But the way Root is looking at her now is unlike any other of those times.

Unlike Sameen, Root’s doing little to hide her train of thought. She seems to be fascinated by Sam's exposed abdomen. Sameen swears she just saw her lick her lips. Or maybe the light is playing tricks on her. Fucking strobe lights.

Is this what people mean when they say they want to get fit to look “good”, as opposed to, you know, be healthy? Could this be the rush they feel, knowing someone else appreciates how much effort they put into their routine? Getting someone else's approval was never even in Sameen’s list of reasons to work out. She doesn't need anyone telling her she's doing a good job, she knows she is.

But. Just.

How is it that suddenly this girl is managing to shake her entire world upside down? This freakishly tall, lanky, and yes, hot woman, in a tight blue dress that hugs her in just the right places. That forgets to eat when she sits for hours staring at a screen, infuriating Sameen for being so nonchalant about her health.

That touches her, for a second, and knows that that is all she can take. That never asks for more than she can give.

Where did she come from?

It's harder than Sam thought, to rip her gaze away from Root’s legs, to stop thinking about them and what they would feel like under her fingers. But it's time, so she must, and taking a step towards her, she grabs her free wrist (Root's holding the strap of her backpack with the other), and pulls her away.

“Have fun!” Grace shouts after them.

“Hey, Root!” Carter this time. “No photo of us?”

“She can't!” Sam replies for her. Her scowl alone makes people move out of their way. “No time!”

If it's at all possible, Sameen is positive Root's giggle vibrates through their connected limbs. She hears it right in her ear when someone pushes Root's body into her back. Anthony looks at her coming towards him, and moves aside the rope to allow her upstairs. He doesn't say anything about Root. Sameen’s firm hold on her is the only explanation he needs.

There are three rooms in the upper floor: the manager's, a lounge room for when they have bands playing live, and the small DJ booth. Sameen walks to the first door on the left, throws it open and goes inside.

Everything's off, the only lights illuminating the space coming from the open wall overlooking the dance floor below.

“Gee, Sam,” Root says in her ear, closer than Sameen expected her to be. “If you wanted me in a dark room all to yourself,” she whispers, smirk plastered to her face. Sameen can feel the heat coming off her bouncing against her body. And Root keeps looking down, transfixed by something… “All you had to do was ask.”

Sam follows her gaze and immediately understands what is circling Root’s mind.

She's still holding onto her wrist. Tight enough to hurt her thin, fragile-looking bones, and yet, Root hasn't said a beep. Instead, she can't seem to be able to control her breathing, or stop biting her lip, taking one step closer to Sameen, invading her private space. Forgetting for one second that she's breaking their unspoken agreement never to push the other's boundaries.

But if Root's breaking the rules, Sameen is not complaining.

Root’s heaving chest, her roaming eyes, the biting of her lip, are things Sameen understands to perfection. She knew Root was intrigued by her, but she hadn't wanted to accept that maybe she was just as filled with need for the other girl as herself.

But before Sameen has the chance to drop her wrist like a hot potato, Root closes her eyes, takes a step back. She shakes her head, clearing her thoughts as much as Sam's. And Sameen is not at all checking out how her wavy hair swishes as she moves. No way.

“You should start setting everything up,” says Root, eyes still closed, not a trace of a smile in her voice.

Sameen feels her frown take center stage. Analyses this one-eighty degree turn Root's made. Comes up empty, like she always does when it comes to her.

When Root opens her eyes, her head tilted to the side, her fake smile is back, and Sam knows things have come back to normal. Or as normal as things with Root can be. She lets her eyes do one more sweep over Sameen’s body, to which Sam rolls her eyes and turns around to her controls board.

“You can leave your things…” Sameen begins, powering up her board and computer. She turns and finds Root has already made herself comfortable in the swivel chair tucked into the far right corner of the room. “There,” Sam finishes.

“Is this all the light you have in here?”

“Uh, mostly, yeah. When more people start to show, the colour lights are turned on and they reach here. But I don't turn on any more lights in here.”

No need. The controls board and the computer are all she needs to see.

“Well then,” Root croons, bending over the chair where her backpack rests, rifling through it.

It's not Sameen’s fault if her eyes wander down for a brief second. Okay, three seconds. But, Jesus, it's right there. Anyone with eyes would look at it, and that damn dress is not helping.

Suddenly, a river of red hot rage travels through Sameen’s veins. She's surely malfunctioning. Because there's no reason for her heart to beat this fast thinking of other people checking out Root’s ass. What the hell is this?

Thankfully, Root finds whatever it is she was looking for. She has a black something in her hand, like a pouch.

“Good thing I brought this,” she says, opening the pouch.

Root takes out a shiny circular thing that expands when she lets go of it, making Sameen take a step back not to get hit by it.

“What is that?”

“A reflector,” Root announces, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Right.”

Root holds it towards Sameen, a silver lining on one side, a golden one on the other. The thing's probably a couple of feet wide.

“I use it to bounce light to the object I'm photographing, like this.” She moves it around, finds a beam of light from the dance floor and nearly blinds Sameen with it. “See?”

“Move that thing before I toss it over to the dance floor,” Sameen grits between her teeth, a hand covering her eyes.

Root just giggles. “No need to get testy, Sam. Besides, I need this to make your photos look nice. I thought that's what you wanted.”

“What I need is for you not to interfere with my work.”

Did Frankie even organise her shit last time? This is a mess of cables, man. Who disconnected the… _ugh_. You know what. Doesn't matter.

“Sounds like Frankie's a piece of work.”

What?

“What are you… _No_.”

Sameen is starting to think this wasn't such a good idea. She has to slap Root’s hand away from her controls board. Root raises her hands in surrender and moves away, backing up all the way to the left wall. The reflector rests against it, serving to get more light into the booth.

“Touch my stuff, and I'll tie you up with the spare cables I have under this table.”

If Root looked good before, Sameen’s not sure what she looks like now. Enveloped by shadows, light from below bouncing on her left side, her back glued to the wall and her eyes widening at Sam's words, she's making Sameen’s mouth dry.

“Foreplay, Sam?” she says, her hands on her camera, lithe fingers playing with its buttons. “Sounds tempting.”

 _Man_. Sameen doesn't have time for this. “Whatever. Just don't touch anything.”

“You got it, honey.”

 

Sam's gotta give it to her. Once Root starts taking pictures, it's like a pod person takes over her. Not a peep comes out of her, and you could argue that it helps Sam forget that she's even here.

But it's just the opposite.

The reflector is placed here and there as Root searches for the best source of light before taking a picture. She comes close to Sameen, but her energy is different than it usually is. It's the same energy that flows through Sameen when she's spinning. She's sure of it. How strange to have a… _thing_ in common with Root.

Is it passion? Maybe. The glint in her eyes as Sam lifts her gaze to meet Root’s camera lens is instantly recognisable. The tiny frown in her thinned face makes Sam want to reach out and touch it.

What the actual fuck.

_Get a grip, Sameen._

She needs to let go. Forget Root. Go to the place in her mind where she always goes to when she's at work. The blue lights behind the controls’ keys tinge her fingers, her headphones dangling from her neck. Sameen brings one headphone to her right ear, holds it there with her shoulder, and spins a new song.

With her eyes closed, she could be anywhere. Be with anyone.

But Root's presence is invasive, intoxicating. Brings her higher than the beers she likes to drink. Sameen feels her still hovering, never intruding. She must have taken a hundred photos in the hour and a half they've been here. The club's now throbbing with dancing people, the smells of abandon clinging to the walls.

Like last time, Sam's eager to explore the effects Root has on her. Figures she could take this up a notch and see what happens.

The beats of the song shimmy into her bones, slither through her veins and pull at her limbs. She relinquishes control. Doesn't want it. Doesn't need it. The mass of people below screaming for more spur her on. A giggle she's quickly becoming familiar with makes her turn around.

Sameen manages to make her heavy breathing look like the result of her work, instead of its actual reason.

Root finishes taking a photo and lowers her camera, smiling openly at Sameen. Her hips sway to the rhythm, much like last time, only now, she's in full control of herself. And her smile is not forced at all.

Her eyes are shining.

It knocks the breath right out of Sameen.

Root doesn't ask her why she is so serious. Never has. It's almost like she _knows_ about her. But Sam never told her, and she knows the girls haven't either.

And she dances. Not like before. Her movements are smaller, her frame barely swaying like a leaf of grass. Side to side. But her eyes never leave Sameen’s, those doe eyes, big and brown and… happy?

Her smile, wide, full of teeth, is contagious, spreading to Sam's own lips. And the result, _fuck_ , it's worth it. So worth it.

Root giggles and her skeleton shakes. She bites her lip, her eyebrows raising to the ceiling, her gaze dropping to the ground. Then she looks back up again, and there's no doubt where she's fixing her eyes.

Sameen’s tongue peeks out without her permission. But the song's about to end and it breaks whatever spell she'd been under. She puts her headphones on, changes the song. Takes the headphones off again.

Sameen’s had enough interactions with people to know that when you stop looking at them and virtually stop paying attention and change the subject, they will be mad at you.

Root continues to surprise her. Her smirk hasn't gone anywhere. She's still letting her gaze wander over Sameen, almost savouring the moment.

Sameen is this close to pushing her up against the wall. She needs to change tactics. Needs more info on Root before she even allows her brain to entertain the thought of sleeping with her. Sex has never been a priority in Sam's life. She does it when the itch hits, which is not that often. And never with the same person more than three times, be it on the same day or on different occasions.

Root is making her reevaluate her entire system. She's not sure how that should make her feel. Confused. But what else?

“Can you show me?” she asks Root. “Just one. I know you still have to edit them or whatever.”

Root smiles and an army of ants march on Sam's skin. “Of course, sweetie,” Root says, walking towards her.

She stands right beside her but Sam notices she's careful not to touch her. Before Sameen accepts the camera, she adjusts a few settings on her console. Her feet still tap on the floor to the beat of the music. Then she takes the camera Root offers her and feels her jaw hit the floor.

Well, not literally, because that would be anatomically impossible. But it's a saying Joss and Grace taught her, and Sameen thinks it fits this moment.

She didn't even realise Root was shooting at the exact same moment she lifted her hands up to the ceiling. Sam's eyes are closed in the photo, the reflector behind her helping bounce light to her back, creating a halo of light around her. Red and green lighting give the scene an otherworldly look.

Sameen is in awe. Root is an artist.

“This is…”

Root takes the camera from her hands. She smiles at Sam's shocked expression. “It helps when the person I'm photographing looks like she just stepped out of a Sports Illustrated cover,” Root says, with a lilt to her voice. Once again, her eyes sweep over Sam, top to bottom.

“A what now?”

Root’s head pulls back, surprised. “Sports Illustrated?” she asks. Sameen just shakes her head, raising her brows. “The hottest magazine in the world?”

Nope. Magazines are not her thing. Sameen likes to listen to the news on the radio. That's it.

“Really, Sameen? I need to get you one. Pull you out of the pit of your ignorance, honey.”

“I'm not ignorant.” Just because she doesn't read _magazines_ …

“On this, darlin’, you are. Trust me.”

And her reply comes to her naturally, without a second thought, while she's clicking buttons on the computer, her body bent down as she works, her eyes on the screen. “I do.”

She knows she's stunned Root into silence when a full minute goes by and she doesn't hear anything from her. So she peels her gaze from her work, turns to find Root standing stock still, a long figure in the chaos of light and shadows. Again, her doe eyes shake Sameen in a way she still doesn't quite get. They're shining, but it's different.

Root's whisper get lost in the loud sounds of the club. Sameen only knows she says something because she reads her lips.

“What.”

Sam looks around, searching for the right words. “Well, I do. If I didn't, you wouldn't be sharing a room with me. You wouldn't be _here_.” She gestures to the booth with her right hand. “Just know that if you mess up, I won't feel sad to see you leave.”

Root can just nod. A mix of smile and frown crosses her features, and she swallows once, tucking a strand of hair behind an ear. Blinking like crazy. “I know, Sameen.”

Root doesn't need to say anything else. The way she imbues her name with meaning; no one's ever said it like Root says it. Like there's a full conversation behind it, one that remains unspoken.

One that Sameen, surprisingly, manages to hear all the same.

The small room seems to be shrinking. Sam nods and averts her gaze. She's almost ready to ask Root to leave, but once she checks the time, she sees her shift’s almost done. Time moved differently with Root here and Sam doesn't know how to take this.

Luckily for her, Beecher opens the door, messenger bag over his shoulder, and comes in, all smiles.

What is it with people and smiling?

“Hey, Shaw,” he says, closing the door behind him. “Who's your friend?”

Root beats her to it. “I'm Root,” she says, extending her hand. Beecher takes it. Now they're both smiling. Why. Sameen works her jaw, pointedly looking at Root over Beecher’s shoulder. Root clearly ignores her. “I'm Sam's roommate.” She says that with more enthusiasm than Sam thinks is necessary.

“Oh yeah! Tomas told me about Shaw having a new roomie.”

“He what,” Sameen deadpans.

“He didn't say anything else about her, Shaw. Chill. You know we don't gossip about you.”

“And it better stay that way.”

“Sam,” Root chides. “There's no need to be mean.”

“I'm not being mean.” What's she on about? Sam shakes her head, frowns.

Root's only response is a raise of her eyebrows. She walks the few steps that separate her from Sameen, stands right beside her in front of the console.

“I'm not,” she repeats. Root just tilts her head to the side. Sam thinks she'll start making her pay for her dentist's appointments, what with the way she keeps making her worry her teeth so hard. “We'll be out in a minute, Beech.”

“Yeah, no problem,” he says.

Root's already folded her reflector and put it back in her backpack, along with her camera. Beecher takes the chair to put his messenger bag on it.

“Oh, Shaw, uh, Jeremy was looking for you.”

Out of nowhere, Sameen notices the space around her become empty, and realizes that she'd grown used to having Root hovering over her. Sameen growing used to such a thing is like Cortez finding El Dorado. A thing of myth, something that never happens.

She turns around, already unplugged from her console, and sees Root standing far away, next to the door. But Root is looking at Beecher. Sameen recognizes her fake smile.

“Who's Jeremy?” she asks him. “I don't know any of Sam's friends.”

The sweetness in her voice is sure to get her answers, Sameen knows this. It seems like she's the only one impervious to her charm.

Beecher is faster than her in responding to her question, but anyway, somewhere at the back of her mind, Sameen wants to know how Root will react to this news. So she stays quiet. Watches Root. Her fake smile bordering on insane.

“Friend?” Beecher laughs. “Jeremy's not Shaw’s friend, in the regular sense of the word. They're more… casual acquaintances.”

“Oh!” is all Root says.

Sameen doesn't know why, but she feels pushed to expand on Beecher’s explanation. “He's no one. I just hooked up with him twice. That's all.”

Root's fake smile is grating on Sameen’s nerves. The light behind her eyes has shifted, morphed into something Sam can't read.

“Well, that makes sense,” she says. Her voice sounds light, but even in the dark, Sameen can see her twisting the strap of her backpack, the tendons in her hands standing to attention.

“Anyway, I should go. Nice to meet you,” she says.

She's out the door before Sameen knows what's happening.

“Shaw?

“Shaw, aren't you gonna go after her?”

Sameen shakes her head, looks at Beecher. “Why. She's fine.”

“I think I fucked up,” he says. “You should go after her.”

Sam nods. Looks at the open door. Nods again.

“Hey, I'm sorry I didn't know…” he calls after her.

“There's nothing to know. She's my roommate.”

“Sure.”

Sameen sees him purse his lips before she closes the door and makes her way downstairs.

Really, what is there to know? Root's her roommate. That's it.

Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my God. Guys. That was insane, but we did it. We got Shoot to win Best Couple and I love you all, you bunch of crazy people! I've never voted for something this hard in my LIFE. And that's the truth. So here's to all of us, those who were in the +4af chat and those who weren't but still voted, you know who you are! The Chinese and Russians deserve a round of applause! I'm super tired right now, my butt hurts from sitting down for almost 48hs voting round the clock, so I'll probably check for mistakes tomorrow, but.  
> MARK THIS DAY, GUYS. We did the impossible!
> 
> (Also, I'm sorry for this ending, but what can you do? I love me some drama!)


	15. NINE

 

****It definitely makes sense. Of course it does. Root knows Sameen doesn't do relationships. And it's not like she wants one.

Her hand wraps around the strap of her backpack as she stomps down the stairs, the image of Sameen’s loose hair, of her bare skin glowing under the club's lights imprinted on her retinas.

A growl bursts from her throat, making her shake her head, because of course it came to this, even though she'd sworn to whatever higher power that she wouldn't let herself get so attached.

Caring is a weakness and Root has no one to blame but herself for walking right into its trap.

It's just that the idea of Sameen at the mercy of someone that's not her makes her want to set something on fire. For months she's watched her and never saw sign of this ‘Jeremy’. That was sloppy on her part. As soon as she gets home she's gonna start fixing that mistake.

The bouncer who allowed her upstairs gives her a once over, quirking his lip upward, raising a brow. She knows all about him from the research she did after her first time here.

Anthony Marconi, 27, bouncer by night, crook the rest of the time. The only thing stopping Root from destroying him on the spot is the fact that he's connected to Carl Elias. And that's a card she doesn't want to waste right away.

So instead of giving him a piece of her mind, she tilts her head to the side, grinning at the small man. She huffs, says, “Not even in your dreams. Move the rope, Anthony.”

His smirk drops instantly. Root can almost see the cogs and gears turning in his head, smoke coming out of his ears as he wonders how she knows his name. He must think Sameen told her, for he says nothing more, and lets her through.

She hasn't taken three steps into the dance floor before a hand stops her. She's torn between brushing it off and continuing on her way, and staying and enjoying the warmth that spreads inside her at her touch, a heat she hasn't felt since Hanna.

Now that she thinks about it, this feeling is entirely new to her. It's one that scares her to Hades and beyond.

As much as she would like to, she can't avoid her. Not her. So she turns around, looks down at the beautiful girl in front of her.

Sameen is wearing a look of confusion that is becoming way too familiar and uncomfortable for Root. She would love nothing more than to explain herself to Sameen, but that would ruin her. And since losing Hanna, Root’s found someone whose life she actually wants to protect.

“What's going on?” Sameen asks her. Her frown, her hands on her hips, the way she keeps watching Root as if she were truly interested in her, are all suddenly too much. “Why did you storm out like that?”

Root blinks a few times, putting her thoughts in order. “Nothing you should worry your pretty self about, sweetie,” she says, putting on her acting smile.

But Sameen isn't having it at all. She rolls her eyes, her eyebrows through the roof, and with her hands still on her hips, she's quickly bombarding Root’s determination.

“Please. Don't give me that crap. I respect you, so the least you could do is return the favour.”

Yeah, no, Root doesn't want to kiss her at all. Nope. She definitely doesn't want to take her to a small and dark corner of the club to have her way with her.

To feel her under her fingertips.

Or run her mouth over her beautiful neck.

Her hands would have access to Sameen’s waist thanks to Joss and her knack for making people wear ridiculous things.

“ _Root."_

Oh fuck. She was staring, wasn't she.

Sameen is still waiting for her answer, and while Root knows she can't tell her the truth (because that's something she still has to figure out on her own), she has to give her something, otherwise she won't get Sam off her back. The girl can be just as determined as her, Root knows it.

Root sighs, rolls her eyes. Sameen folds her arms across her chest, eyebrows still raised.

“Fine,” Root says. “I didn't appreciate your friend…”

“Coworker,” Sameen corrects her.

“...your _coworker_ interrupting us.” She shakes her head. Suddenly, looking Sameen in the eye is the hardest thing she's ever had to do. “We were talking about something serious and he just burst in. And I don't do well with strangers,” she says, throwing a hand into the air.

“Root, what are you talking about?”

Damn, this is not the time nor place to be having this conversation.

Sameen keeps saying her _name,_  and if she continues saying it like that, Root is sure she won't be able to keep this up for much longer. The way Sameen’s tongue rolls around the T, begging her to listen, turn her gaze back on hers and get lost in her black eyes… it is driving her insane.

Root's already mental. She doesn't need to get crazier than she already is.

“ _We_ were strangers,” says Sameen. “And you're doing fine with us.”

“Yeah, but that's differe-”

“How?” asks Sameen, calm. “How is that different?”

Her voice, Root could hear it for days. She sounds genuinely interested. Like the answer Root might give her could unlock a world of secrets to her. Root would ravage the world to give her the answers she needs. But she can't. She doesn't have them.

They're in Sameen’s hands, even if she doesn't know it yet.

“It's different _for me_. Okay?”

The air is thick, too dense to breathe, the space between them almost non-existent. The pull Root began to feel weeks ago, months even, could Sam be feeling it too?

Root looks down at Sameen’s eyes, right in front of hers, mouths close enough to touch. They're both stuck in place, dark eyes holding a staring competition. And with her gaze, Root is telling her, asking her, to stop.

Sameen frowns, her jaw working as she lets her eyes wander over Root's features. “Okay. I trust you.”

Root really wishes she didn't.

“There you are, Sammy!”

Sammy?

“I've been looking all over for you,” says a disembodied English voice. “Didn't Beecher tell you I was here?”

Root thinks she might have seen a look of annoyance flit past Sam's face, but it was so brief she can't be sure. She unglues her gaze from Sameen’s, clenches her jaw at the sight of a strange hand on Sam's waist.

Sameen moves to the side and the hand drops, but the gesture does nothing to quench Root’s anger. She knows she's being idiotic, but she's quickly learning that, when it comes to Sameen, an idiot is all she knows how to be.

Slowly, putting on her golden smile, Root lifts her gaze to the stranger. She's met with a cocky grin that shows too much teeth for her liking.

“Hi!” she exclaims enthusiastically. She might be over exaggerating her Southern drawl. “I'm Root.” Her hand reaches forward. “And you're… Josh, right?”

His grin grows. He takes Root's hand and she lets him squeeze it harder than she'd normally allow anyone to grab her. “It's Jeremy,” he says. Root waits a beat, eyebrows raised in question. “Jeremy Lambert.”

Bingo. It's all the same with Brits. They just can't help but fall into the James Bond cliché.

Sameen is fuming between the two, giving Root a look of total disbelief.

“Right!” Root brings a hand to her forehead. Jeremy's eating this shit straight up. Sameen… not so much. “Well, I better go back to the table. Make sure Joss stops drinking those mojitos.”

She waves at the two of them. Jeremy hasn't lost his manic grin. Root curses herself for being terribly unprepared for him. She doesn't want to look, but she feels it anyway, the force of Sameen’s glare roaming over her retreating figure. At least she's stunned her into silence. Root can leave without Sameen’s voice distracting her.

The second Root turns around, her overtly sweet smile evaporates into thin air. Part of her wishes Sameen would reach out and stop her like she did moments ago. But the saner part of her knows it’s for the best.

This way she can go back home and begin digging up everything there is to know about this Lambert character.

She sure hopes his digital life is juicy. You know what they say.

When life gives you lemons… you've gotta learn how to suck them dry.

 

Fifteen minutes later, Root is back in the apartment. Turns out leaving whilst trying to avoid being seen by a party of five people (Lionel was super drunk, he didn’t count) actively searching the nightclub to find you is harder than you might think. And the fact that she was wearing a very noticeable tight dress did little to prevent her from sticking out like a sore thumb.

As soon as she got home, Root was ready to chuck the dress she’d bought right after leaving the coffee shop in the trash. But then, the image of Sameen being stunned into silence, of her heaving chest when she saw her wearing it came back to her.

She's gonna have to start investing in more dresses, then. Damn it, Joss was right.

After changing into her comfy pyjamas (the blue ones with little pink doughnuts on them), Root grabs her laptop, powers it up and settles on her bed. Her backpack lays forgotten next to her feet. There's only the one thought on her mind right now: a single name.

Her legs are cold from her walk home, but the covers and the computer’s heat on her lap are helping remedy that.

The first program Root runs is designed to search for a target's financials. The second one focuses on the target's social media. A third one gets busy running facial recognition across the Net, based on a profile photo the second program retrieves from said target's social media. It is a well designed network meant to uncover even the most deeply hidden of secrets.

If there's anything worth knowing about Jeremy Lambert, Root will find out soon enough.

One of the first things Root did when she moved in was hire a better WiFi service. She keeps it cloaked, feeding small batches of data to the girls’ own network to make theirs faster. Of course, Joss was the first one to notice the increase in speed, but she made no further comment, attributing it to a stroke of luck.

There's not much more Root can do as her programs run on the background. She trained them to be completely independent, needing no one to solve any problems they may encounter. It's gonna be a few hours until they unearth a decent amount of data.

Her legs have warmed up almost entirely. She is comfortable in her little nest. The covers and sheets she bought last month are soft against her skin. Root rubs a cold spot on her thigh, under the sheets. Over and over. Lines of code write themselves before her eyes, but her thoughts have shifted focus. Jeremy becomes the farthest thing in her mind.

Her fingers trace lines, shapes over her thigh, and she wishes someone else were here. Touching her. Allowing her to explore her, too.

Root suddenly straightens up, clicks a few keys on her laptop and hides her programs from view. Her naked feet touch the cold floor and make her curl her toes as she gets up to deposit her computer on the little desk she never uses. She leaves it on, its power cord plugged to the socket on the wall, and sits back down on her bed.

Bringing her covers back over her legs, she pulls her backpack close and fishes her camera out. The backpack makes a _thump_ sound as it falls unceremoniously to the floor beside her. Root had cleared her back up memory card especially for this evening. She turns the camera on, clicks on the display, and feels her heart jump up to her throat. She tries to swallow it back down, but it’s no use. She’s holding three hundred and sixteen photos of a Sameen that she never -not even in her wildest dreams- thought she’d have the privilege of seeing.

Tonight, it was like she was in the presence of someone completely different than the person she’s been observing for the past few months. When it comes to strangers or clients, Root has no problems poking and prodding through their digital footprint in order to learn everything about them, to know where to look for their cracks and flaws.

But Sameen was different from the start. After that first photo, taken on campus on a sunny July day, Root knew she wasn’t like everyone else. The petite, black eyed girl leaning against a wall had captured her attention with her intense staring at everything that happened around her.

Arms crossed, mouth pursed, Sameen had been a good few feet away from Root, so she could watch her without being seen. Sitting on a bench close to a tree, Root had a great view of the girl who did nothing more than observe her surroundings. As innocently as she could, Root brought her camera up, snapped a few pointless photos before turning her focus towards the girl that was quickly becoming the centre of her attention.

Long hair pulled back, this girl didn’t leave her spot for well over an hour. She changed positions after a while, sitting down on the ground, her back against the wall, stretched when she became tired, but didn’t do much more. As far as Root could see, she hadn’t brought books or anything with her. Root imagined she’d been out for a run and was now taking a break under the sun. Her get up made her think that. Clad in grey leggings, a blue tank top and trainers, it was pretty clear she had been doing some form of exercise on such a lovely day. The hot weather hadn’t been suffocating, bringing most college kids out onto the grass to soak up the sun before the summer holidays started.

Everyone had friends with them. Not Root, obviously. She preferred to be alone. But when no one came to meet up with this mystery girl, when an hour had passed and she was still sitting there, just watching people, Root knew that there was something different about her.

So she did what Sameen was doing with the world around her: she watched her.

And after she got back to her dorm, Root uploaded one of her photos onto her facial recognition software and looked for her on the university’s database.

She only read enough to know that she had been right with her initial thoughts. Sameen Shaw was most definitely nothing like the people Root analysed on a daily basis. It felt like a betrayal to this stranger to keep prying on her personal data. For the first time in her life, Root did something she wouldn’t have done for just about anyone.

She got her basic info -name, age, major, medical records… and closed the program.

Now, she knew where to find her. She could go back to check up on her, make sure she was still there, still observing everything with a clinical eye, all on her own. She didn’t want any machines helping her see someone she could look at with her own pair of eyes.

Checking up on Sameen had become a weekly thing for Root. But the holidays came faster than she thought, and soon, there was no Sameen to watch from a distance anymore.

Which is why, when one of her programs pinged with news about the girls looking for a new roommate, Root was sure that the universe was talking directly to her. That or one of her many computer bots. Root liked to believe it had been a combination of the two.

The camera becomes heavy in her hands. Root has been watching Sameen in dozens of photos and it’s clear to her that she will never forget this night. It will sit on a high pedestal at the back of her mind, a moment to cherish when the days go back to black. Root is sure that the light around Sameen will help her through these rough patches.

Root knows it shouldn’t matter, she’s no one to Sameen, but still. What could she be up to, now that Root’s here and she’s there with Jeremy? Is she letting him touch her? Kiss her as harshly as Root wants to? Have they gone to a dark space in the nightclub or have they already left, bound for his apartment?

Root tries to burn these thoughts away, they have no place in her mind. But it’s hard, when all she wants is close enough to touch and yet, so far away.

She’s gonna have to try a different method to get Sameen out of her brain.

Surprisingly, her eyes grow tired, even though her mind is not. She gets up, makes sure her programs are running smoothly, and leaves her camera beside it on the desk. Root bites her lower lip, sighing as she considers something for a second. She doesn’t know exactly what pushes her to do it, but she does it anyway. Writing on a piece of paper, she leaves a little note next to her camera, and goes back to bed.

When her eyes close, Sameen’s smile is all she sees.

* * *

 

Jeremy was acting like a spoiled child, and honestly, Sameen didn’t want to deal with his bullshit. She couldn't deal with _anyone_ that drunk and clingy. Who did they think she was, their mother?

The stench of bourbon rolled off his lips in waves that pushed Sameen further back into safe land, instead of pull her along with him.

“Go find someone else,” Sameen told him.

Root's body had disappeared into the mass of dancing people, but Sameen still craned her neck to try and find her. She'd seen the smile Root usually wears when she's playing pretend.

She doesn't know exactly when she started being able to tell the difference between Root's masks, but she's sure she’s right about this.

Root was upset.

It had been clear in her voice when they were in the DJ booth and Beecher mentioned Jeremy. Sameen had seen it in the way her eyes hadn't sparkled like they had when she'd smiled for her. The manner in which Root had all but fled the booth was also a clear indicator.

But, what was she supposed to do with this information?

“I wanted to be with _you_ tonight,” Jeremy said in her ear, his voice slurry.

Sameen took a step back, looking right at him, jaw working hard. A second before breaking the hand that he'd been sliding on her lower back, she noticed just how drunk he was. He couldn’t even keep himself upright. It wouldn’t be fair to knock out someone this far gone. Shit.

“I'm gonna give you a free pass, just this once. Stop touching me, and go. I have to find my friend.”

He left her alone after that.

Once back at her table, Sam asked about Root, but no one knew where she was. Joss and John were getting ready to leave.

“If we see her on our way out, we'll let you know,” John told her, helping Joss into her jacket.

But they hadn't seen her, and after an hour of looking for her and then having to break up a fight that Lionel had gotten himself into, Sameen was ready to go home.

She made sure Harold would take care of Lionel, and left the club with Grace.

 

“She’s not responding to my texts,” says Grace, walking beside Sameen.

A fine drizzle is falling from the sky, more a nuisance than anything else. Sameen walks with her hands in the pockets of her puffy jacket, one of the only reasons she allowed Joss to dress her in such a skimpy outfit. Her phone is silent in her hand inside the pocket. She’s not expecting it to ring or anything. She’s never even started texting Root. She feels like maybe Root would (should) reach out to her, instead of Grace. But still nothing.

“She’s probably already sleeping,” Sameen says. She shrugs further into her jacket and trudges on.

Grace puts her phone back in her purse and looks for her keys. Their building’s right across the street. Hopefully, Root will be there too.

Even though she’s sober while Grace is a bit dizzy, Sameen lets her be the one to open the door of the building and their apartment. Hands still inside her pockets, body hunched forwards, she leaves Grace standing in the small hallway, hanging her coat on one of the hooks by the door.

The apartment’s quiet. No typing sounds come from her and Root’s bedroom as Sameen walks towards it, straining to listen. The door’s open -she doesn’t mind it and Root prefers it this way- and the room’s in shadows. But there... a rhythmic sound. A shape in stark relief thanks to the moonlight coming from the window right beside her.

Root sleeps peacefully with her front to the wall, almost shielding herself from Sam. But that’s ridiculous. A sleeping person doesn’t decide which way to face and who to avoid.

“Oh, there she is,” Grace says.

Her whisper startles Sameen, makes her jump and pull her hands out of her jacket’s pockets. Usually, she’s very aware of her surroundings. She prides herself on never letting anyone surprise her. Which prompts her to think…

How long did she stay there watching Root’s sleeping figure? A minute? Two? One hundred and twenty full seconds of analysing a body that has relinquished control, that is wearing no costumes of any sort, an open book for her to read as long as she pleases.

“Yeah, she’s sleeping, I told you,” she says.

Slowly, she starts ushering Grace to the door with her whole body, feeling like she’s the sole reason behind Grace’s smirk.

“Yeah, you did,” says Grace, releasing a laugh right after.

“Go to sleep, Grace.”

“I’m going! No need to kick me out!”

“Grace, keep your voice down. _Geez_.” People are sleeping here, damn it.

“Shhh! Why are you screaming, Shaw?”

Sameen grabs Grace by the wrist and pulls her to her bedroom. Grace doesn’t complain. She stays quiet as Sameen deposits her on her bed.

Man, when will be the day that she _doesn’t_ have to babysit a bunch of drunken idiots?

“Sleep, Grace.”

Grace closes her eyes, starts removing her clothes. She nods, says, “Okay, I’m sleeping.”

And seriously, she looks so adorable that Sameen can’t help a smile from curving her lips. Grace falls face first onto her pillow. She only got so far in removing her top and putting her head through the neck of her sleeping t-shirt. Sameen helps her thread her arms through the sleeves, pulls her pants off and places the covers tightly around her. Grace hums in appreciation while Sam backs away towards the door and turns the light off. She closes her door, because Grace does like to sleep with it closed.

On her way to her bedroom, Sam hangs her jacket on the hooks by the front door. Outside, the drizzle is turning into a downpour of rain. Sam can hear the storm closing in. She’s gonna have to change her plans for tomorrow morning. She likes running in the rain, but not when it’s this heavy, she doesn’t. She’s not planning on getting a cold anytime soon.

Root’s breathing pattern stays the same. Nothing plagues her dreams. Sam walks to her bed, pulls her sleeping clothes from under the pillow and starts getting undressed. She leaves her shoes under her bed (they’re still wet from her walk home), and goes to hang her shorts and top on the back of her desk chair.

And that’s when she notices something strange about the setup.

Over the desk, beside her physical therapy books, is Root’s laptop. Open. Running. Her camera lays next to it, too, and a piece of torn paper rests over the laptop’s keyboard. Sam picks it up, her frown making a comeback, and reads it.

_No peeking in my camera! I can tell when someone’s been through it! You’ll just have to wait till I edit them to see the pics :) x, R_

The x is a kiss, right? Sam think that maybe Joss used it with her once, but she can’t be sure. Joss is more of an emoji user. And Grace would never abbreviate something so much.

Sameen chuckles, putting the note back down. Dressed only in her underwear, she turns back to her bed, where her sleeping clothes await her. And she sees it out of the corner of her eye. She did it so soundlessly that Sameen didn’t even notice, she was too busy reading the note.

Root’s body now faces the room, and her face looks calm and peaceful. She’s clutching one of Sam’s throw pillows, but she looks like she’s in the deepest level of Slumbertown and it’s not like Sameen _needs_ that particular pillow right now. Root can have it. Also, Sameen doubts she would be able to pry it off Root’s fingers. She’s gripping it fiercely, her nose buried into it. But at least there’s no frown on her forehead.

Sameen quickly puts on her clothes, jumps into bed.

Her breath evens out as sleep claims her.

She thinks she hears Root sigh happily next to her head, but she’s on the doorway to Slumbertown herself and, besides, how can someone sigh happily?

Is that a thing people do?

Maybe.

Maybe Root can.

Unlike her.

But, anyway… there’s something in Sam’s mind that is escaping her right now, but she’s pretty sure that it has to do with Root. She’ll just have to analyse it in the morning.

When she’s not… falling asleep.

Yeah. Later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drunk Grace is the cutest bean you've ever seen (*^.^*)  
> These are Root's PJs: http://images.asos-media.com/inv/media/5/7/7/0/6200775/image3xxl.jpg
> 
> And if you guys are interested, we've started a chat dedicated to the Shoot Spinoff. We'll be brainstorming and gathering forces there. Our goal is to make it clear that we want a spinoff where #RootIsAlive, because, well... Nolan just doesn't seem to get that we don't want TM!Root. Let me know if you guys want to join, and I'll send you the link. You'll have to download the Discord app. I've been using it for just a week, and it's the easiest and most organised chat room ever. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! (ﾉ∀`♥)


	16. 9.5: Social Media - Part Six

* * *

* * *

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wanna be part of the Shoot Spinoff movement? We need all the fandom to come together for this!  
> http://shootspinoff.tumblr.com/ https://twitter.com/ShootSpinoff_ 
> 
> Sam's & Root's IG posts by @themachine


	17. TEN

Root might be tall, but she's as light as a feather. Her thin arms twine around Sameen’s neck, her legs forming a vice on her waist as Sam, chest heaving and losing balance, pushes her against the wall.

Sameen wonders if she's maybe being too brusque with her, but she soon learns that Root is anything but frail. As her back hits the wall, she arches her body, her torso bending forwards, head to the side, exposing her neck. Her mouth opens in a silent moan and the sight makes Sameen’s defense walls crumble.

Root's blue dress is a godsend, revealing just enough to leave the best parts of her to the imagination. The legs around Sam's waist might as well be a viper trying to steal Sameen’s breath away.

And as she connects her lips to the tantalising pale skin right there for the taking, as she bites on Root's pulse point, Sameen feels her shiver in her arms. Root's hands find purchase on her shoulders. And the way her body's shaking is transferring to Sameen through the contact.

She never would have done this in her booth, with an open wall to her right, with a mass of writhing bodies just below. But the darkness cloaks them, and Sameen’s high on something other than booze.

She trails a path with her tongue on Root's skin, from her long neck to her jaw, stopping on her chin. Root still won't look at her. This has never been an issue for Sam before, but suddenly, she wishes Root would turn her head towards her and open her eyes. Let her see how much she wants her in them.

The club's music has been pushed to the back of her mind. Root's sounds are all the music she needs. She's been holding her by her thighs, her own legs a bit apart to grant her balance. Root's dress rode up as she pushed her against the wall and now Sameen has access to the soft skin that was hiding under it. Teeth nipping at her jaw, Sameen’s nails rake on tender skin, gently at first. But when Root releases her loudest moan yet, she knows she's got permission to do more.

Root shivers in her arms and it takes Sameen higher. Her hands shake Sam's shoulders.

“Sam.”

Sameen sinks her nails deeper.

“Sam.”

The shaking gets rougher. Sameen closed her eyes at some point. But she wants to see this. She needs to see Root unraveling before her eyes.

“ _Sam_.”

Sameen opens her eyes. And Root's not wearing her dress anymore.

“Wha- what's going on?”

Kneeling beside her bed, her head level with hers, Root looks right into her eyes. A frown crowns her forehead. Her eyes sweep over Sameen’s body, and Sam's sure that that is concern written all over her. She remembers the look from when she was little and would get sick, because it's the same one her mother wore back then.

“Are you okay?” Root whispers. “You were shaking and panting. Sounded like you were having a nightmare. Are you sick?”

Oh. _My_. _God_.

Her breath is still erratic. Sameen fights to control it but Root’s hair's a mess, and it doesn't matter that Sameen had nothing to do with that. It's still not helping Sam seeing her like this. Laying on her side, her face is close, too close to Root’s.

(Not close enough.)

Sameen tries to breathe through her mouth, and manages to regain some of her composure. But Root is still watching her, her face too close to hers.

 _Grace_.

Grace is in the other room and she and Joss are counting on her not to mess this up. Because that's totally what she would do. She'd get involved with Root, and it would be fun at first… probably. But then Root would ask her for more than she can give, like everyone else does.

Yes, Root has been nothing like what Sameen first thought she'd be. But if there's anything Sameen has learnt over time is that people run far away when they hear the two words that she carries like a brand on her skin.

As soon as they get wind about her personality disorder, their attitude towards her changes completely. And she hates that. Hates that they see her as someone faulty. Someone to be fixed. She sees it in Grace's and Joss’s eyes way too often. She doesn't want to see that in Root's too.

So she sits up, rubs at her sleepy eyes. Her ears pick up on the storm she knew was coming, wind and rain howling outside. But that's not all they hear.

Sameen opens her eyes and sees Root still kneeling on the floor, her hands on Sam's bed. The sun's not up yet, but it's light enough for Sam to see her just fine. The intensity behind her eyes rattles Sameen. She realises Root asked her question and is waiting for an answer.

“I'm not sick,” she says.

Immediately, Root’s demeanour changes. She releases a sigh, looking for any signs that might tell her Sameen’s lying. But she isn't, so she's not worried about Root seeing that on her face.

Sameen takes a look at Root's outfit and can't do anything to stop the chuckle from bursting through her lips.

“Doughnut pyjamas? Cute.”

The frown from before fades from Root's features. A sincere smile replaces it. She tucks a strand of hair behind an ear as she looks down and back up again.

Sameen feels her heart twitch in her chest. She's seen Root do that before, the smiling and tucking her hair behind her ear, maybe poking her tongue out a bit. She would bet her arm that she only does it around her.

Okay, maybe not her arm. A hand.

One thumb. That's an important finger. She doesn't know what Root does when she's not home. She's not entirely willing to bet on something so big. Who does she meet with when she spends all day out of the apartment?

Does she smile like that for other people?

Her jaw hurts so much that she realises she's gritting her teeth, breathing through her nose. And damn it, Root loses her smile again.

“Sameen, are you sure you're okay?”

Root waits a beat. She gets up off the floor and sits down on Sam's bed, interpreting her silence as an invitation to let her stay. But the reality is that Sameen’s heavy breathing is entirely her fault. And she is most certainly not okay.

Why the fuck did she have to start thinking about Root being with strange people?

 _Focus on something else, Sameen._ Like the weight of this weird girl on her bed, wearing silly blue pyjamas with pink frosted doughnuts on them. Sam closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, hears the silence. The rain hitting the window. If Joss or Grace were in Root’s place, they'd be bombarding her with questions. But Root remains quiet.

It is becoming increasingly difficult for Sameen not to grab her and turn her around, press her against the mattress and kiss her worries away. She's sure her nails are leaving marks on her palms.

And then, “Sameen.”

Just that. Just her name pulling her back, anchoring her to this reality.

Sam opens her eyes. Root is sitting a foot away, giving Sameen her space. Expectant. But also, the light behind her eyes calms Sameen. Root offers her a brand new smile and Sam has to swallow back a torrent of emotions she's not ready to decipher right now.

A strange sound joins the melody of calmness they've written with Root. It brings Root's laughter back and Sam is glad she's causing this.

The loudest of growls erupts from Sam's stomach. Root's laugh makes Sameen smile. The sound is light, a chiming bell moved by a summer breeze. Sameen frowns as she thinks about how her mind was able to come up with this comparison. She's never been one for feelings. It's interesting to learn what else Root can bring out in her.

“Is it too early for breakfast?” Sam asks.

“It's like half past seven,” Root says. “Come on.” She gets up, bends over to find her slippers under her bed. “I'll make us pancakes.”

That only serves to make Sameen’s stomach growl more.

“With blueberries.”

“Sure, Sameen. Blueberry pancakes it is.”

 

The first week of November rolls around with days that are colder than the year before. The freezing winds are making Sameen stay indoors more than ever.

Honesty, it's cozy in her apartment, with the heat cranked up, Joss and Grace out for most of the day, Root’s fast typing bouncing off their bedroom’s walls and reaching Sameen’s post in the living room. She can do her routine here just fine, and no one will bother her.

Her fitness balls have made a reappearance. She inflated them again yesterday after Root found their soggy, airless forms in a box in their bedroom.

Once the red one was fully inflated, Root proceeded to sit on it and bounce her way from the living room into the kitchen. But her mistake was trying to get such a wide ball through the door while still being on it.

Sameen almost had a heart attack seeing Root fall onto her back, her breath knocked right out of her. She was sure Root had cracked her head open. Fast as lightning, she ran to Root's side, Root gasping for breath, eyes wide.

“Root! Are you hurt?” Sameen said, her hands grabbing her head and feeling for bumps.

Her heart was doing the craziest thing in her chest, but she had no time to dwell on that.

“Root. Can you hear me?”

Sameen could see her chest still struggling to breathe. Root was blinking up at her, brown eyes round and disoriented.

“I can't…” Root began.

“What?” said Sameen, bending down to hear her better. She placed her ear right next to Root's mouth, straining to listen.

Instead of hearing an agonising plea for help, Sameen heard Root smack her lips, her voice a whisper in her ear. “Sweetie, I can't get up. Would you pick me up and carry me to the couch?”

And with that, Sameen just dropped her head and stomped away.

“What the hell, Root! I was beginning to think you had a concussion!”

It turned out that Root could get up on her own just fine. After Sameen plopped down on the couch in a fury, Root carefully walked towards her and sat down on the opposite end of the sofa.

“Sameen…” Root said. Her voice had lost all of its playfulness. “Did you- did you really care about me being hurt?”

It was the wonder and awe in her voice that made Sameen turn her gaze to Root's. Arms crossed, she looked into Root's large eyes, a small grateful smile bubbling up to the surface on Root's face. If she was trying to calm Sam, it was working. Not that she'd tell her that, but whatever.

“I cared about losing someone we need to pay rent.” Sameen huffed, burrowing her body further into the pillow of the sofa. “We're not the Kardashians around here, in case you haven't noticed.”

Root's eyes grew to the size of porcelain plates. “Oh my God. Sameen Shaw, did you just make a _pop culture_ reference?”

“What.”

“I can't believe I didn't record this to show to Joss later!” Root said, giggling.

“I _have_ Interne- you know what? I'm studying and I have to do my routine, so if you could just…” Sameen did a _shooing_ motion with her hands.

Root tilted her head to the side, grin still very much in place. “My back hurts like hell if that makes you feel any better.”

Sameen relented. “It does. You deserve it.”

“So… maybe you could practise your physical therapy techniques on me?”

“Root! Go, man. _Jesus_.”

Root got up and started to walk away. “That wasn't a no, Sam.”

 

Now, whenever Sameen looks at the red fitness ball, she remembers what happened yesterday and how her heart had seized up when she'd seen Root’s body hit the floor.

The fact that Root is bouncing on it again, less than twenty four hours after falling off of it, makes Sameen wonder if either she's feeling better or if she's just plain crazy.

Both are highly likely possibilities.

It's nine pm on a Thursday evening, and the girls decided to have a pizza party in their pj's.

Let the record show that no one asked Sameen if she was on board for this. She'd spent the afternoon at the gym training with John, and came back home to find Joss and Root belting out a Dixie Chicks’ song, with Grace as their audience.

Sameen could tell right away that Root had already had a couple of beers. Her cheeks and the tip of her nose were red. Grace had followed Sam into her bedroom and convinced her to change into her sleeping clothes.

“You don't want Joss to make a scandal about this,” said Grace.

Sameen knew Grace had a point there. Which is why she's currently sitting on the suckiest pillow on the sofa (last one to the right), nursing a bottle of beer, a slice of pepperoni pizza in her hand.

It's Grace's turn to sing, but unlike Joss and Root, she really can hold a tune. Sitting beside Sam on the couch, Grace chooses a Kelly Clarkson song. This is the only way Sameen would ever listen to this music. She's so not into this crap.

But the beer's cold and the pizza's good. The company's not bad. Usually, she'd grab her share of the food and go to her room. But Root's got her hair up in a messy bun and it's doing _things_ to Sameen’s brain.

So she stays and she watches her, all smiles and shining eyes behind her glasses. And she catalogs everything she's learning about herself tonight.

“Root.”

“Hmm?” Root takes a sip from her new bottle, blinks at Sameen.

“How many beers have you had?”

Root lifts her bottle and looks at it sideways. She chuckles at something Sam misses. “I dunno. Four?”

Sameen frowns. She can see Root wobbling on the ball right next to her, her hand occasionally grabbing onto the sofa’s armrest. Her messy bun has only gotten messier as the hours have passed. Loose strands of light brown hair fall around Root’s face.

It's annoying. Sameen wants to ask her why she isn't tucking it behind her ears, like she usually does. But then she remembers that Root’s probably drunk enough not to know how to function.

“Four? And you have class in the morning?”

Grace has managed to coerce Joss into a Hairspray duet. They're using a wooden spoon and Sam's stereo’s remote as microphones. Root giggles as she looks at them, her tongue peeking out from between her teeth.

“Root.”

“I don't have class in the morning, Sam. Relax,” she says. It comes out as ‘ _relaz_ ’. Her hand lands on Sam's arm instead of on the sofa.

She's keeping it there. Why isn't she _moving_ it. Sameen realises she's been looking down at it for a while when Root's breathing hits her face. Her gaze flies up and meets Root's dark one, her glasses doing very little to smother their intensity. Root smiles and giggles again, her body bouncing on the ball, making her grab Sam's arm tighter.

Those damn doughnut pj's are gonna be the death of her. Not even her blue dress or her tight jeans have the ability to make Sameen want to tear Root's stupid clothes off.

It's her glasses and her homely look what are slowly driving Sameen insane. Her mussed hair and her smiles, those innocent smiles that turn into gasoline meant to fuel her fire when she looks at Sameen. That, and the way she bites her lip when she sees Sameen staring.

Damn it, she needs to get laid.

“Ohhhh, girl! About damn time!” Joss yells. “When was the last time you got lucky?”

Great, she said that out loud. Fucking hell.

Sam looks at Joss, sees her sitting down on a chair she dragged closer from the table. “We're not discussing my sex life, Carter. Got it?”

“I'm just saying. You could have gone home with Jeremy last week. I'm sure he'd be game for anything if you called him now.”

“Or that girl you liked that one time,” Grace adds. “What was her name? Kelli?”

“Kelli’s straight,” Sam says. “And anyway, we're not talking about this.”

Sameen lifts her bottle and takes a swig of her beer, stealing a glance at Root. It's short (she doesn't want to stare) but the image of Root's fake smile hiding behind her own bottle stays with Sameen.

“Shaw, call Jeremy,” says Joss. “Scratch that itch!”

Grace giggles beside her on the couch. Root keeps bouncing on the fitness ball. Distracting her. Sam sees her take a bite of her now cold pizza.

“You should call him,” says Root. Her voice is light, indecipherable. Another bite of pizza is gone. Followed by a large swig of beer. “He looked okay.”

“Okay?”

Root shrugs. “Yeah, you know. For a guy.” She shakes her head, turning away from Sameen. Making it impossible for Sam to read her.

“That's the best compliment towards a guy you'll get out of her,” says Grace.

Sameen frowns.

Joss snickers. “Root doesn't like to eat from _that_ cookie jar,” she says, eyebrows raised. "If you know what I mean."

Oh. Well. Sameen knew Root likes women. She'd just never thought her attraction to people was limited to the female gender. Makes sense.

Fuck. It does make sense, but now she's thinking about faceless women touching her and… shit.

“I'm gonna call Jeremy,” she says, getting up.

She needs to relieve herself of this tension, ASAP. Bringing her bottle to her lips one last time, Sameen downs her beer, licking her lips clean as she finishes. The bottle rattles against the others when she leaves it on the floor.

She's already dialing Jeremy's number as she walks to her bedroom. He picks up on the second tone.

* * *

 

There's a pressure in her chest as Root excuses herself for the night, as she makes her way to her empty bedroom and closes the door for the first time.

Tears gather in her eyes as she paces around the room, and she knows she's got no one else to blame for this but herself. She shouldn't have drank so much. Sameen warned her.

But this isn't even about her drinking. This is about her doing the exact opposite of what she'd promised herself she wouldn't do before moving in.

She wouldn't let herself fall in love with Sameen.

Well, it's a little late for that now. In retrospect, she thinks she was already halfway there before she even set foot in this apartment.

And honestly, who the fuck was she kidding when she made that promise? She'd told herself it was all about helping Sam financially, but in reality, all she wanted was an excuse to get to know her.

She shouldn't have done that. She should have stayed away and stuck to her plan of helping her from a distance.

She's jeopardising her future here. Not just with Sameen, but with Grace and Joss too. And Sameen had looked so beautiful with her grumpy face and her old Ramones t-shirt.

Root would much rather be close to her like she is now, than leave the apartment and never see her again. Even if that means she has to put up with seeing her leave to other people's places.

Her background check on Jeremy proved to be useless. The guy's only guilty of being filthy rich. Root could only find some parking tickets, a few arrests for DUI (but who doesn't have a couple of those), and a complaint for loud noises from a party he threw on New Year's a couple of years ago. A complaint he seemed to settle by donating generously to the cops that came to his penthouse.

Root would have done the same, to be honest. If she'd found anything else on him, she would have said something. But the guy's clean. So she really had no excuse to stop Sameen from going to him.

Root stops pacing, sits on Sameen’s bed. She curls her body into a ball, allowing herself, just for this once, to be here, in this bed, surrounded by Sameen’s scent.

She feels the tears that had pooled in her eyes drop down her nose, wetting the pillow. And she stays there, wondering who in her list she can call tomorrow to start making this pain in her chest go away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi peeps! I have an exam tomorrow, and then it's the winter holidays for me! Two weeks. I'll try to write and upload with the same frequency as I've been working, but don't be upset if I don't upload new stuff too quickly. I've been giving you a new chapter every three-four days, I'm spoiling you! XD
> 
> Anyway, here are the songs I chose for this chapter:
> 
> Dixie Chicks - Not Ready To Make Nice (the song Joss and Root "try" to sing) - https://youtu.be/pojL_35QlSI  
> Kelly Clarkson - Heartbeat Song (the one Grace sings, meant to fit Sameen's mood) - https://youtu.be/d4_6N-k5VS4  
> \-----  
> Zedd ft Hayley Williams - Stay The Night (Root) - https://youtu.be/i-gyZ35074k  
> Sam Smith - Stay With Me (Root) - https://youtu.be/pB-5XG-DbAA  
> Sam Smith - Lay Me Down (Root) - https://youtu.be/HaMq2nn5ac0
> 
> ^ Sad songs to make you cry alongside Root because I'm a binch XD  
> We're almost there, I promise I won't make you suffer much longer... for a while. Then it's back to the PAIN.


	18. 10.5: ROOT'S PHONE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alone in hers and Sam's room, enveloped by Sameen's sheets and still a bit buzzed from the beers that she drank minutes ago, Root goes through the photos stored in her phone.   
> This is her Photo Gallery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks Mars for your magic ;)


	19. ELEVEN

Sam's running playlist booms from her stereo’s speakers. But she's alone. So it's not like she's distracting anyone, and she needs it to keep her heartbeats high.

Her body complains after her fifty-third consecutive push up, but she trudges on and finishes sixty. Even numbers, you know.

Sweat clings to her skin, drips from her hairline down to her cheeks, her neck. The wind is making the windows rattle in their frames. But Sameen doesn't feel the cold. She wipes the sweat off with her gym towel, her arm twitching slightly from having been pushed too hard. She's already been through every exercise in her day's routine twice, and even though her body's ready for a break, she prepares herself to do the circuit once more.

Her cell phone rests over the table, its screen dark. It hasn't rang all day.

Of course, she knows she's being stupid. This is not how conversations work. You can't just will someone into contacting you. For that to happen, you must also make a move.

Yeah, well. Fat chance of that happening.

Hands on her hips, chest heaving from the exertion and something else she can't quite name, Sameen’s mind starts going off on a tangent. Again. Seems like it's enjoying making her miserable.

Damn, stupid, messed up brain.

Closing her eyes, she shakes her head and goes for her water bottle. She drained it like ten minutes ago and never refilled it. The sound of her heavy footsteps crashes against the music, forming a rhythm that beats inside of her. But damn it, it's doing nothing to calm her mind. Usually, the adrenaline rush she gets from working out is enough to drown out all external and internal sounds.

But these voices are loud, louder than anything Sameen’s ever been able to hear. They are questions that demand answers, shouting at people in court.

Bottle refilled, she leaves it on the kitchen counter, resting both hands on it for support. Her heart rate’s dropping, but she's not sure if she wants to keep going with her work out anymore.

As Sameen brings her bottle to her lips and drinks a healthy amount of water, she hears a knock on her door. Did one of the girls lose their key? No, because then how would they have gotten inside the building?

Her heart beats loudly in her ears, her mind still very much disconnected from the world. Sameen doesn't even think before opening the door, finding-

“Jeremy?”

The smug grin on his face has become a staple of his every time he's about to ask you for something that he wants. Like a child playing nice in front of his parents when he knows he's fucked up but still hopes they'll let him get away with it.

Jeremy looks her up and down, grin still in place. He takes advantage of Sameen’s momentary surprise and lets himself in. If Sameen weren't so shocked to see him here, she would have closed the door on him already.

“Hi, sunshine,” he says in that lilting voice that Sameen is beginning to despise. “Hope I'm not interrupting anything.”

As he looks around the apartment for the first time, Sameen stands there, holding the door open. Her confused frown has morphed into one of annoyance.

“What are you doing here, Jeremy? How do you even know where I live?”

Jeremy takes a few steps further into the apartment. This is not something Sameen wants her neighbours to get wind of, so she closes the door, following Jeremy through her home.

Jeremy stops by the sofa, plops down on it, his arms stretched on its back. “I thought it was time for me to see where you lived. It's only fair, don't you think?”

Crossing her arms over her chest, Sam huffs. Never has she been more than ready to enforce her three-nights-only rule. “Jeremy, you need to leave. Now.”

He sits up, elbows on his knees, and gives her a smile that would melt dozens of women. Not Sameen, though. She can't wait to see his sorry ass walk through her door and never return.

“But I just got here,” he says, raising his eyebrows. “You didn't even let me finish the other night.”

Sitting at arm's length away from Sameen gives Jeremy a prime position. He lifts his hand to grab hers, but, naturally, Sameen’s reflexes are faster than his.

She grabs his wrist midair, holds it tight. Brings her face inches from his. “What are you, four, don't even know where your dick is?” She means it as an insult, but that only manages to spur him on even more. Until Sameen applies more pressure. “Either you leave now, or I make you leave.”

Jeremy shifts in his seat. Jaw working, he tries not to let Sameen see how much she's hurting him. “But, Sammy, I thought…”

“Call me Sammy one more time and see how that turns out for you,” she threatens. “You don't think. I tell you. And I told you I was done with you.

“Now, I don't know how you found me. I don't wanna know. But if you ever come here again, so help me God, _this_ ,” she twists his wrist harder, watching him squirm, “will look like child's play compared to what I'll do to you.

“Do we have an agreement?”

Jeremy can only nod. He's too busy biting down, trying to keep his cries in, to say anything.

“Good. You're gonna leave now. I don't wanna see you or hear from you again.”

Sameen releases him and takes a step back, watching him nurse his wrist as he gets up. She walks behind him towards the door to make sure he's leaving.

Instead of running away like a sane person would, Jeremy turns around. And Sameen sees him _smiling_.

“You'll call me again,” he says. “And I'll be waiting for that day.” Jeremy opens the door and is met with an unexpected sight.

Standing right outside the door, keys in hand, a big manila envelope under her arm, is Root.

Jeremy grins at her conspiratorially, then turns around to wink at Sam. “I'll be seeing you,” he says.

Sameen’s jaw hurts from the effort not to punch his lights out. She's not stupid, she knows exactly who he is. She can guess how he got her address. It wouldn't be wise to antagonise him.

A second after he leaves, Sameen notices Root is still standing in the hallway. Eyes wide. Watching her. Her hair is tousled from the wind. Her mouth drops slightly open, but she doesn't say anything, and after a while Sameen feels like she has to invite her into her own apartment.

“Root?” she says, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You gonna move out there into the hallway?”

Root swallows, blinks a few times. Her mouth closes, her lips calling Sameen for a moment, before she snaps out of it. The cold has made them pinker than before. When she smiles, Sam knows it's one of her masks, but damn it if she doesn't look pretty anyway.

“What and leave you all alone? You'd miss me too much.”

Root comes in, closing the door. Her words bounce inside Sam's head, crashing all over the place.

They're not entirely wrong.

“I thought you weren't gonna be home until later,” Sameen says.

She sees Root raise her eyebrows, head to the side, smile crumbling. Root sighs, taking off her jacket, holding the envelope between her knees.

“Are you keeping tabs on me, Sam?” Root asks playfully. Jacket and scarf hung on the hooks, Root grabs the envelope, holds it with both hands.

“You said you'd be home late.”

“I did? When?”

Sameen scoffs, rolling her eyes. “You did. This morning when you stole my damn coffee. Or don't you remember that either?”

Root's biting her lower lip now. It's almost like she does it on purpose, knowing that it'll leave Sameen trying to figure out why her heart beats just as fast as it did a second ago when she was doing her cardio.

“I remember everything about you, Sameen,” Root tells her.

Sounds like an admission. Sam's glad Root’s leaving the masks off for now.

They've been standing by the door for way too long, for no apparent reason. As she walks to the table, Sameen can feel Root's eyes on her back, like a soft caress. It baffles her that she doesn't mind it.

“There's actually a reason why I'm here now,” says Root, following her.

Sameen takes a swig of water, looks at her. “What.”

As a reply, Root presents her with the envelope she was carrying.

Sameen purses her lips. “What do I do with this?”

“You open it.”

So she does. The paper's not sealed, she merely has to put her hand inside, feeling… cards? Glossy paper? Paper she pulls out and immediately starts staring. She was wrong, they're not papers.

They're mirrors.

Sameen holds in her hands pictures of someone who looks like her, but can't possibly be the same woman. This person Root's captured is unconcerned, free. She looks different in every shot, working over her console, or with her headphones hanging from her neck. Sameen studies them all.

When she reaches the last one, she knows she's found her favourite.

She never would have thought she'd feel comfortable enough to let go like that in front of someone. But she's got the proof in her hands that it happened.

Sameen lifts her eyes from the picture of herself with a hand in the air, smoke and light surrounding her, and finds Root silently watching her, arms crossed.

She's learnt over time that a small compliment goes a long way. But with Root, it doesn't feel forced. With her, she means it.

“These are amazing,” is all Sam says.

Root takes a step closer. Smiles. “You like them?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, this one's my favourite.” Root point to the one Sameen still can't believe is her. “You were so into the song,” she says.

Sameen takes a deep breath. It's hard to concentrate with Root standing so close. Her frown grows, jaw working for the millionth time. She has to try a dozen times before the words actually come out of her mouth.

Finally, she says, “Thank you. For this.”

And _there_ , there's the light she wanted to see, her real smile curving those lips.

“Of course, sweetie,”  says Root. She giggles, for fuck’s sake. “Don't mention it.”

Now that's a directive Sameen has no trouble following.

* * *

Sameen keeps watching the photos Root just gave her, transfixed. If coming here just as that slimy worm was leaving means that she gets to see Sam like this, skin glowing, the smallest of smiles tugging at her lips, then Root thinks it was worth it.

“Thank goodness I arrived when I did and not a moment earlier,” Root says. She picks up Sam's water bottle and drinks from it.

Sameen follows the arc Root's hand makes to her bottle and up to her lips. She frowns, yanking the bottle from Root's grip. But it's soft, only making Root smile.

“Why do you say that?”

“Because,” she says, sitting on the same spot Jeremy just vacated, “I wouldn't have wanted to interrupt anything.”

Sameen looks down at her, photos in one hand, bottle in the other. She walks closer until she reaches the couch. Sam purses her lips, looks behind her at the door and back at Root.

“What, that?” Sameen scoffs, nodding at the door. “Trust me, if you'd gotten here sooner, you would have done me a favour.”

That makes Root sit straight. “How come?”

Sam lowers her gaze, shakes her head. She gives the couch a little kick. Root waits. If Sameen wants to share whatever is going on in her mind with her, she will.

“It's nothing. Just that I may have gone a bit overboard with him. But I don't like it when people come to my house unannounced.”

“Unannounced? You didn't invite him over?”

Sam lets out a mirthless chuckle. “Hell, no. I didn't even give him my address. He must have gotten it thro-” But she stops as she takes in Root's features.

Sitting stone still, her eyes fixed on a point only she can see, Root stays quiet. Her mind works in overdrive. She remembers the look of annoyance Sam had when the door opened. How Jeremy had been massaging his wrist. How Sam had pinched her nose, something she only does when the situation is overwhelming her.

When Root speaks next, her voice is deprived of its usual melody. “You didn't want him here.”

“Well… no.”

Root turns to look up into Sameen’s eyes. “Do you want to see him again after this?” she says, keeping her voice level. Eyebrows raised, she holds Sameen’s gaze.

Sameen doesn't look away. Her eyes roam over Root's, over her face, searching for clues that will tell her what Root's thinking. “No, I don't. I don’t want to see him ever again.”

Root puts on a smile that keeps her real thoughts hidden from Sameen.

“Okay, then! We won't speak about him again,” Root says. She jumps up, rests her hands on Sam's shoulders. “I'm gonna go pack some clothes. Because that's the other reason why I came, apart from bringing you your photos.”

Root starts walking to her room, feeling Sameen’s eyes on her.

“I'm gonna be staying at Daniel's for a couple of days,” she calls out from the bedroom.

After a few minutes, she comes back into the living room with a backpack full of clothes. Finds Sameen standing pretty much the same as she left her. She's moved closer to the table, left the photos and the water bottle on it. Root walks towards her.

Her backpack weighs down on her shoulder, and not just from her clothes.

Sameen looks at her with her trademark frown and pout in place. The sight tugs at Root's lips. And knowing she didn't want Jeremy in their home makes her heart beat faster.

“Don't miss me too much,” Root says.

“Right,” says Sameen. She offers Root a small smile.

And Root can't help herself.

Before she knows what she's doing, she bends down, pressing her lips to Sam's cheek.

She walks away before she can read Sam's expression. She doesn't want to see her eyes in case they tell her the opposite of what she wants to see.

“You can't lie to me, Sam. I'll see you later.”

Root opens the door, smiles at Sam before she closes it and walks down the hallway and out onto the sidewalk.

Her words to Sameen weren't a complete lie. She does need to go to Daniel's. But she needs to make a pit stop first.

Looks like someone needs to be taught some manners.

 

It's been ten days since Root woke up in Sameen’s bed after the failed pizza party. The sounds of her roommate getting up and moving about managed to wake her. She blinked against the sunlight coming in through the window and found Sameen making her bed.

Root's bed.

The fog from the previous night's drinking made it harder for Root to wake up completely.

“Hey,” said Sameen.

Root just ogled at her. “Hi,” she said when she could find her voice. Sam was puffing up her pillow, setting it back down. “Wh- You slept in my bed?”

“And you in mine.”

“Why didn't you wake me up? I would have moved.”

Sameen grinned while tying her shoelaces. “Right, like you could move that time I had to carry you inside.” Setting her foot back down from the edge of Root's bed, she looked at Root still lying down, covers tight around her. “It's fine. You were snoring. Didn't feel like waking you was in my best interest.

“I'm going for a run. I want an omelet when I get back. For letting you sleep in my bed.”

Not only had Root made her that omelet, but she'd also bought bagels from the bakery down the street, enough for everyone.

The feeling that had enveloped her that day, seeing Sam raise her eyebrows in surprise as she ate what Root had cooked for her, that feeling is missing from her now.

In the darkness of a strange apartment, Root waits for her prey. Her backpack is at her feet, contents moved around from when she rifled through it.

The penthouse is as ostentatious as she imagined it would be. What a waste of money. That Degas is clearly a fake. At least the armchair she's lounging on is comfy enough. Root’s been waiting here for twenty minutes. Seems like the place’s owner was in no hurry to get back home.

Suddenly, she hears the alarm system disengage (for the second time in the past half hour, she disabled it easily coming in), hears the keys in the lock.

Her fingers itch around her weapon of choice, the item she fished out of the backpack. Her spine straightens and a playful smirk blossoms on her lips. Anticipation makes her blood rush through her veins.

But she waits. She's learnt to be patient. Life has taught her how.

When the lights turn on, she can see it clearly. The smugness dripping from his shoulders.

He tosses the keys onto the coffee table right in front of Root, metal clinking against the glass surface. It's then that he sees her there, her back resting casually against the back of the armchair.

“Holy…!” he starts, eyes wide, jumping back. “How did you…”

Root looks like a child on Christmas day, finding out her parents got her a puppy. She licks her lips without realising she's doing it. Coming forwards in her seat, she makes her Vipertek VTS-989 stun gun crackle. Its blue light bounces on her face, making her look like something right out of a kid’s nightmare.

“Hi, Jeremy,” she says. “We're gonna have so much fun.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, my darlings! Day 3 of my winter holidays, so my time is split between writing, studying and being with my family. So my writing time is suffering, but I'm powering through!  
> Again I tell you, during these two weeks I won't be uploading as fast as I have so far. So bear with me :)


	20. 11.5: SAMEEN'S PLAYLIST

 

[ an electro mix for sameen's workout sessions from [with you/without you](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Farchiveofourown.org%2Fworks%2F7118560&t=ZTBhZmRiZmZlOTM4NzU3N2FhOWM3NjljNTE1MjQ3OGFkM2I2ZjQyMCw0QkROd0J5SA%3D%3D) , a fanfiction by [@ellainthetardis](https://tmblr.co/mHwqv6Yhd7FI5fn_zCD4Zxw) on AO3 ]

 

**tracklisting:**

>   
>  **001.**   _Runaway (U and I)_  – Galantis  

>   
>  **002.** _I want you to know_  –  Zedd ft. Selena Gomez 

>   
>  **003.** _Clarity_  – Zedd ft Foxes  

>   
>  **0** **04.** _Where have you been_ –   Rihanna  

>   
>  **005.** _Faded_  – Alan Walker 

>   
>  **006.**   _Firestone_  – Kygo ft. Conrad Sewell 

>   
>  **007.** _Beautiful Now_  – Zedd ft. Jon Bellion 

>   
>  **008.**   _Don’t you worry child_  – Swedish House Mafia ft. John Martin 

>   
>  **009.**   _She wolf_  - David Guetta ft. Sia 

>   
>  **010**. _Sweet Nothing_  – Calvin Harris ft. Florence Welch 

>   
>  **011.**   _Break Free_  – Ariana Grande ft. Zedd 

>   
>  **012.**   _Heroes (we could be)_  – Alesso ft. Tove Lu

>   
>  **013.**   _This is what you came for_ – Calvin Harris ft. Rihanna 

>   
>  **014.**   _True Colors_  – Zedd ft. Ke$ha 

>   
>  **015.** _Back to earth_  – Steve Aoki ft. Fall Out Boys 

>   
>  **016.**   _Wolves_  – Digitalism 

>   
>  **017.**   _If I lose myself (remix)_  – Alesso vs. OneRepublic 

>   
>  **018.**   _Calling (lose my mind)_  – Sebastian Ingrosso & Alesso ft. Ryan Tedder

>   
>  **019.** _This Is What It Feels Like_ – Armin van Buuren feat. Trevor Guthrie

> **[[8TRACKS]](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2F8tracks.com%2Frootofallevil%2Fferal-cat&t=NTBiOThhNDRkYTM0NDY1N2VmMGY0OGIyNjU4Y2E5ZTQzMmRkYWE3Ziw0QkROd0J5SA%3D%3D)   [[YOUTUBE]](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fplaylist%3Flist%3DPLNSWsMDCwNs05xheLN3Sq5vc2wt6Red7s&t=ZTUwOTAyYTY5NDAzOThlMTNiM2ZkNzk5NTk0YjI1YmQ5N2JiNmE1NCw0QkROd0J5SA%3D%3D)**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Mars for making the awesome cover and helping me choose some of the songs!


	21. TWELVE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back!  
> Sorry for the delay! But taking a break is nice sometimes.  
> Anyway, here's the chapter, enjoy!

****Ants run over her skin. Her fingertips itch and her lungs are on fire. The thrill of the hunt makes her blood sing. She knows her grin is evilly predatory, can see how it affects her prey in the way Jeremy is shying away from her.

It's what makes this game that much more fun.

When Jeremy stumbles back and trips over his own feet, Root lets out a genuine chuckle. One step forwards, then another; slow and graceful movements. Calculating.

Jeremy glances at the coffee table that is now behind Root, completely blocked by her body. He resorts to going through his pockets in search of his phone. Root's eyes have him ensnared. He can't look away from her twinkling eyes.

“Who are you gonna call, Jer?” Root croons. “You don't have real friends. Your parents are in another country. So, who's it gonna be? That old ass that's bailed you out of jail a few times?”

Eyes wild, Jeremy looks over at the gleaming white bookcase to his right. Root revels in the rapid rise and fall of his chest, imagines his heart beating like a bird's under her grip.

“I found your Glock in the hidden compartment two seconds after getting in,” she tells him, guessing why he's looking in that direction. “Honestly, it was way too obvious where to look. All these shelves are deep but that one.”

Jeremy's backed up against the bookcase, keys far from his reach, no one to call and no weapon close by. Root's grin lights up her face as she looks down on him pressed against the shelves. She lets her stun gun crackle again, smiling as Jeremy cringes.

She thinks that he might actually be thinking of overpowering her. His stance shifts into one of attack, body poised forwards. But it's the sight of the blue ray of the Vipertek and Root's maniacal expression what ward him off. He frowns, swallows, his eyes going from the stun gun and back up to Root's face.

“You should really do something about your security, too,” says Root, head tilted to the side and a pout on her lips. “It's just terrible.”

Root stops a breath away from him, the stun gun raised in front of their faces. She smiles as she makes it come alive again, as Jeremy closes his eyes, cowering from her. It makes her giggle, having him under her thumb.

Eyes still closed, Jeremy says, “Did Sameen send you here?”

The sound of her name falling from his lips is enough to make Root lose what little patience she'd been showing. Her nostrils flare, her heart races, twisting in her chest. He has no right to say her name, no right to keep disturbing her.

Root's chest almost touches Jeremy's, but she has enough control over the situation to know that it would be unwise for her to get closer. Not for what she has in mind.

“You know,” she says, all traces of joy stripped from her voice. She presses the stun gun to his neck. Enjoys seeing his muscles twitch under it. “For a guy who claims to be as smart as you, you should learn to quit when you're told.”

A single bead of sweat travels from his left temple to his neck, capturing her attention. She follows its path, attentively. Two, three, four seconds, enough to make Jeremy gain a false sense of security. She sees him opening his eyes, his breathing going back to something close to normal. He turns his head towards her, looking right into her eyes. And he smiles at her, that nasty little smile he gave Sameen earlier.

“Tell you what,” he says. Root senses the cowardice seeping out of him. She'd laugh, but she's enjoying this too much to spoil it. “I have a little over six thousand dollars in my safe.” He swallows, his eyes betraying him by dropping to the stun gun against his skin. “You can take them. I don't need the money.” A pause. Another feeble attempt to persuade her with his pathetic charm. “You don't really wanna do this.”

Like the Cheshire cat, Root allows her grin to unfold. She licks her lips in anticipation, delighted by the look of abject terror on Jeremy's eyes.

Then, she laughs. And ignites the stun gun without hesitation.

Jeremy's convulsing body drops to the ground after a few seconds of writhing standing up. His eyes roll back, his neck stiff, shaking. Root looks down at him. So disappointing. She's not even using the gun at its highest level.

Kneeling beside him, she rests her elbows on her knees, the stun gun hanging from her fingers between her legs. “Oh, Jeremy,” she says, raising her eyebrows and curving her lips. “Wrong again.”

Her hand shoots forward, connecting the crackling gun directly to his chest. The blue light from the gun's ray bounces off Root's retinas. To Jeremy's eyes, she looks unreal. But he can't keep his eyes open for long. In his pain, he feels her hovering over him, imagining her look of satisfaction.

Moving the Vipertek aside, Root whispers in his ear, “I really _do_ want to do this.”

As he twitches on the floor, she makes calculations. He's maybe gonna last two hours before passing out.

 

Huh. She was wrong. He lasted three. Well, that was an interesting turn of events.

* * *

 

Who the fuck is Daniel.

“She never talks about her friends,” says Grace. Sitting on a chair at the small kitchen table, she nurses a steaming mug of tea between her hands. Beside her, Joss types away on her laptop, a frown on her face. “But she's always running off to who-knows-where, so I just assumed she had some.”

Standing with her back against the kitchen counter, Sameen crosses her arms over her chest. The faint drizzle from a few hours ago has turned into a downpour, darkening the sky outside their windows. Sam still smells like wet dog. After dropping off Lionel's dog, Bear, at his place, she rushed back home, sensing the storm that was approaching.

The humidity had made her hair curl at the edges of her ponytail, but she hadn't bothered brushing it. Her thoughts were somewhere else.

After three days of having last seen her, Sameen is beginning to wonder where could Root be. More specifically, who she could be with. It's not anything weird. She just wants to know. Out of curiosity. She doesn't know much about Root and that upsets her.

And thinking that that upsets her, is making her doubly upset. _Goddammit_.

“That is weird,” Joss says, still looking at her screen.

“What's weird?” asks Sam.

Joss shakes her head absent-mindedly. “Just that I can't find Root on Facebook. You'd think everyone in our generation has a Facebook.”

Sameen frowns. Even she has one, not that she uses it much.

“She's not listed as Samantha Groves, or as Root Groves. I dunno.” She lifts her eyes to Sameen. “She didn't say this Daniel's last name, right?”

“Why would she say that?”

“Just checking. Okay, let's try something else.”

Grace leans over the table to look at the computer. “What are you doing?”

“I'm just tryna find our girl online,” says Joss. “Maybe there's a picture of her and her friends somewhere, and we can see who this Daniel is.”

“Well, we know he's not her boyfriend,” says Grace. She brings her mug to her lips, sips her chamomile tea. Her chair is now closer to Joss’s, so she can see the computer without having to crane her neck.

“If she has a Twitter, I can't find it.” Joss looks up, eyes lost in the distance. “But she _is_ always carrying that camera of hers around…” She lowers her eyes back to her screen and types in a few more words. “Aha!” she says, victorious.

Sameen is intrigued enough to walk towards her friend, standing right behind her and Grace. The page Joss has clicked loads quickly, but it takes Sameen longer than her friends to take in what she's seeing.

“Is that…?” Grace begins.

“Yep,” Joss replies.

“Wow. She's good.”

“That's not good, that's amazing.”

“How many did she post?”

“One, two… Four?”

Four photos of the woman that looks like Sameen, but isn't. (Not really. Only in her mind, escaping her cage through the songs she listens to.) Root's Instagram page decorates Joss’s screen. And the girls can't stop looking at it.

Rising Tide. That's the username Root chose for her account. Sameen thinks it's fitting. After all, Root came into her life out of nowhere, crashing into her with tremendous force.

Joss clicks on the first photo, the one both Sam and Root chose as their favourite. “Oh, wow. A thousand five hundred and four likes? _And_ two hundred comments?”

Sam doesn't understand why Joss is so impressed. She's busy reading comments left on her photo. Things like, _Beautiful shot!_ , _Gorgeous_ ; _I love everything you shoot, Root!_ They call her by name. They praise her work. Tons of people. Sameen never would have imagined Root was so well known online.

And then on the third photo: _Oh, it's_ _her again!_

“It's her again?” Grace asks.

“Wait, let me check,” Joss says.

She begins scrolling down, going through dozens of photos, looking for something amongst the snapshots of the city Root likes to capture. Pictures of strangers, of places that have caught her attention. Of-

“Go back up,” Sameen says, getting closer to the screen, her head right between Joss’s and Grace's. Something she wouldn't do in another circumstance. She points at a picture. “Click on that one.”

Joss clicks it, enlarging it. And a rock materialises in Sam's throat, making it hard for her to breathe. There's no caption on the post. But Sameen would know who that person is either way.

Red lighting dominates the scene, a body standing to the left of the frame. A bare back. The blinds of the room draw lines on the exposed skin. Skin that Sam has had time to get to know. Skin that calls her even in her dreams.

Joss squint her eyes, tilting her head. “Is that… is that Root?”

“I think so,” says Grace. “That looks like her hair, mayb-”

In a flash, Sameen moves the laptop so it's facing her, making Joss and Grace have to move out of her way.

Joss complains, “Shaw!”

But Sameen’s mind is already elsewhere.

Again, she scrolls past unknown faces, people in the crowd. Her brain is starting to make sense of the theme present in all of Root's photos. They're all quite similar. Except for the ones of Sameen.

She can only find one other photo of Root, this one a self portrait. In black and white, the camera placed at a low angle looking up, it highlights Root perfectly.

She keeps looking. Going all the way back to August… and then July.

Sameen’s lips purse almost on their own. Her frown deepens as she hears Grace's gasp to her right, Joss’s “oh shit” to her left. Each of her vertebrae lock into place when she straightens her spine. The thumbnail of her photo is enough, they don't need to enlarge it to know who it is.

Sameen remembers that day like it was yesterday. She remembers trying to feel something more than mild frustration. Remembers thinking that her professor had been right calling her out in front of everyone. She was a great student, he'd said, but for this line of work she needed to work on her people skills.

Apparently, telling a thirty-six year old father of two, who had fallen off a railing at his job and broken his leg, that she'd seen little kids with cancer beat his time getting to the other side of the parallel railings, was _not_ cool.

It's was the truth, though. But her professor hadn't been the only one giving her the stink eye. So, after class she'd gotten changed and gone for a run. And then sat down on campus grounds, her mind going a million miles an hour.

Sameen can feel her friends’ eyes on her. Pressing down on her, shouting questions. Her own question about Daniel's identity forgotten, she grabs her phone from the table and walks to her room. Grace and Joss are smart enough not to follow her.

Her eyes immediately land on Root's unmade bed. The urge to tidy Root's side of the room was not as overpowering as to make Sam make her damn bed. She sits down on her own bed, huffs, and gets back up. Holding her phone in her left hand, she runs the other over her face, her foot tapping on the floor.

Her cell's screen lights up when she unblocks it. She has a text from Tomas telling her she needs to come into work this weekend that she hasn't replied to yet. Switching to her contacts list, she scrolls down until she finds the name she's looking for.

And before she can think more about it, she writes two lines and texts Root.

_-Root, it's been three days. Are you even alive?_

Huh. Now, that was better than she would have thought. Her first text to Root. She doesn't have to wait long to get a reply.

_ >Gee, Sam. I didn't know you cared about me so much. _

Sameen chuckles. Of course Root would turn a simple question about her wellbeing into something weird.

_-I don't. It's the others._

_ >If they're so worried, why haven't they texted me instead of you? _

_ >Admit it, Sam. You're worried about me. _

_-Just don't wake me up when you get here. Okay?_

_ >Okay, sweetie. ;) _

* * *

 

The grin on Root's face will stay there for days, she's sure of it. Never in a million years would she have guessed that Sameen would be the one to text her first. Root was saving that card for when she really needed to play it. But you don't see her complaining much now, anyway.

These past three days away from the apartment -away from Sameen- have served to get her thoughts in order. Too much thinking about Sam and how she looked like in her shorts and crop top made her lose her perspective.

So, okay. Sam texted her. That's fine. But in Sam-speak, it could just mean that she's reached her quota of annoyance at Root and simply needed an outlet.

Sam reached out to her. But Root’s been reaching out to other people, too. And while those people don't make her feel the rush that bursts inside of her when she's around Sameen, it'll have to do.

The building is silent at four am, all dark hallways and eerie light bulbs. Root tries not to make too much noise with her keys when she opens the door. Jason asked her to stay until morning, not out of concern for her, but because the boys weren't sure they could bring the program back online if it suddenly crashed. It _was_ Root's rootkit at work, intricate and elegant and designed for destruction.

But Root's desires have found a new home, and even though she had just made a new promise with herself in regards to what she could and couldn't do about them, she just couldn't stay away anymore. Not after Sameen had crossed the bridge and made an attempt to be her friend. Or whatever had happened that evening.

She shuts the door quietly behind her, hangs her coat, cold and moist from the fine drizzle outside, on the hooks by the entryway. Root's tired and cold, but there's something… Something feels different.

Taking a couple of steps into the darkness, she looks around. Was that plant next to Grace's easel when she left? Probably not, it looks new, the pot is too clean. Root may not care for plants much, but knows that Grace gave it a nice spot, next to her painting tools by the window. Root looks at the green leaves, but can't think of the species’ name. It's just like Grace to give up half of her working space to another living thing.

Her mind starts short circuiting, showing her a person that is not Grace tending to this damn plant and thank you very much, that is just what she needed right now. It is not a particularly bad memory, but Root knows that now, dreams will follow. And those are just _super fun_ to have.

Her bed had been her first destination when she entered the apartment, but Root turns the other way, walking to the kitchen. She grabs Sam's water bottle because it's the only one that's filled, and gets an aspirin from the bathroom cabinet. Her backpack waits for her on the couch as she takes the pill, downing it with water, head falling back. And then she sees it.

Centre stage on the bookshelf. A new frame surrounding it. Root's favourite photo of Sameen at the club, on display for everyone to see.

Her feet take her towards it on their own. She knows this was probably Grace again, maybe even Joss. But the fact that the picture is still here, that Sameen didn't fight to put it away, is making Root's heart race.

She walks to her room with a smile on her face. Of course, she's noticed that her muscles only do that when she's either around Sameen or thinking about her. She also knows she needs to stop. For both her and Sam's sakes.

But it's fucking hard, and damn it, she wants this.

Her eyes land on her bed as she walks into her room. She can hear Sameen’s slow breathing, a soft snore here and there, but her bed captures all of her attention.

It's _made_. And Root specifically remembers leaving it in a mess in her haste to get to Jeremy's.

She leaves her stuff on the floor, but consciously now, her backpack at the foot of her bed, shoes next to it. Folds her clothes as best she can and deposits them on the desk chair.

Sameen is facing the bedroom. If her camera's mirror didn't click loudly every time she takes a photo, Root would be capturing this moment.

She gets into bed and lets Sam's calm breathing lull her to sleep.

Contrary to what she feared, she doesn't have nightmares. Her dreams have found someone else to focus on.

At least for a little while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SONG FOR THIS CHAPTER:
> 
> Ed Sheeran - Photograph - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nSDgHBxUbVQ  
> "Loving can hurt, loving can hurt sometimes  
> But it's the only thing that I know  
> When it gets hard, you know it can get hard sometimes  
> It is the only thing that makes us feel alive"


	22. 12.5: Social Media - Part Seven

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All your questions will be answered, and I love reading them. Keep 'em coming!
> 
> Thanks @TheMachine for helping me by finding these pics!


	23. THIRTEEN

There had been a presence following her that Summer.

She'd sensed it after her classes, around campus, this hovering shadow that never said anything, never came close. Sameen had been more than ready to fight it off if it came to that. But she'd had a feeling that whoever it was didn't mean her any harm.

The feeling had reminded her of the time when Lucas Gardner would follow her through the halls of their high school to ask her to prom. She'd known he was there, but as long as she ignored him, it was almost like he wasn't. In the end, he'd given up on her and ended up asking Laura Whatever to be his date. So that had been a win in Sam's book. No way in hell was she going to go to prom with all those rich and bratty assholes.

The same presence she'd felt all those months ago now filled every empty space and corner in her room, waking Sameen up, not letting her fall back asleep. The shadow finally had a name. A face, one that had begun haunting Sameen for all the craziest of reasons.

She'd felt her before she'd heard her calm breathing beside her own head. She'd stayed as quiet as possible, as if the slightest of movements would trigger a resounding explosion of noise and wake her up.

Her phone said it was six twenty am. Sameen was completely aware of Root's figure sleeping mere inches away from her. Before she could stop herself, her body had turned onto her stomach and she'd found herself watching Root sleep.

The creature that had been following her that Summer was snoring softly in the bed next to hers. Three days she'd been gone, and three days had Sameen felt her absence.

 

Running through the streets of New York, she wonders why she didn't shake Root to wake her up. Why she just couldn't stay still anymore and had to get dressed and run off into the darkness of dawn.

Her heart is pounding, bruising her chest, Sam is sure of it. Is that because it is trying to match the rhythm of her feet? Or is there some unknown reason, a reason that is right there, close enough to touch, but that escapes her entirely?

Should Sameen be angry at Root for lying to her? Was Root really lying? They've never talked about their lives before she moved in, not much anyway, not beyond getting to know where she came from, what her mum's name was.

The sun's coming up. Sameen must have been running for a while now. Her shirt and hoodie are drenched in sweat and there's a blister on her little toe, and maybe she should sit down on that bench over there, by the oak tree.

To lie means to distort the truth and feed someone a different version of reality.

Root hadn't done that.

Root watched Sameen, observed and catalogued her habits. Paid attention to the small details. Like when she left her favourite protein bars in her sock drawer. Or when she bought her those bagels she knew Sam loves. Root waits and she listens to what Sameen doesn't say.

But she doesn't lie. At least, she hasn't so far.

 

“I'll be back around five, are you making lasagna, then, Root? Yeah? Oh hi, Shaw. So, what do you need me to buy for dinner?”

Joss is a little hurricane all on her own, running around the living room, grabbing her messenger bag, her keys, her wallet from the table. Her curly hair gets in her way, and she swats at it to get it out of her eyes. She points at Root.

“Root. What do I get from the store?”

Languidly laying on the couch, her laptop over her legs, Root looks up from her screen and smiles at Joss. Sam sees the crinkle around her eyes, the shine in them.

“Don't worry, Joss,” says Root. “I'll have Sam run to the store for me.”

Sameen is still standing by the door, her shoulder against the wall. She knows it's better to stay out of Joss’s way when she's in a hurry. When Root speaks, she looks directly at her, that warmth still present in her eyes.

“Hi, sweetie,” she tells her.

And Sameen doesn't get why it disarms her.

She needs to move, peel her eyes away from Root's, from her long legs stretched out over the couch, from her intense and piercing stare. She resolves to go to the kitchen for her water bottle. In the other room, the front door opens and closes after Joss. Grace is already at work. And Sam has had time to think this through. She brings her bottle with her and walks towards the couch.

Root's lithe fingers fly over the keyboard, but she stops typing when Sam approaches her.

It takes Root a few seconds and for Sam to raise her eyebrows to realise that Sam would like to sit down on the couch. Her damn legs are taking up all the available space. Sam hears her giggle as she sits down, Root folding her legs under her, Indian style.

Out of the corner of her eye, Sam sees it: Root's tongue peeking out between her teeth as she tucks her hair behind her ear. Sam already stretched at the park six blocks from the building, giving her body time to cool down as she walked home.

And yet every one of her limbs feels like it's catching fire.

Sameen takes a swig of her water, spreading her legs open, settling comfortably into the couch. Root resumes her typing and silence blooms between them. The water bottle makes a _blob_ sound as it falls onto Sam's thigh when she lifts her arms up, stretching her spine. She doesn't have to look to know that Root's watching her every move. Root's sigh confirms what she already knows. So, she rolls her sleeves up, revealing the bottom half of her forearm tattoo, and faces the girl sitting next to her.

Root doesn't seem to have realised that Sam's watching her watching _her_. Her eyes are fixed on a tattoo she's already seen but never questioned Sameen about.

“Cool Instagram page,” says Sameen, breaking the silence. She takes another gulp of water, watching Root's eyelids begin to flutter in a panic.

Sameen couldn't say why, but she feels a thrill inside, knowing she's caught Root by surprise. That she's finally one up on her.

Root's eyes can't stay still and she can't seem to look right into Sam's, either, choosing instead to look at her nose, her cheeks, her mouth. Her eyes grow wide while Sameen waits for her to calm down. When Root finally sees that Sam isn't holding a knife to stick into her, she frowns, looking down at her lap and back up again. This time into Sam's eyes.

Sam raises her eyebrows. Root's sink even more.

“You found my Instagram profile.”

Sam shakes her head once, twice. “Joss did.” Another big gulp of water. A drop escapes her lips, running down her chin.

Root follows its downward path. She hasn't shut her mouth closed since Sam spoke.

“You took a picture of me back in July,” Sam says.

Root blinks a thousand times. “Ah… Yes. I did.”

Sam considers her. Nods. “You knew who I was when you met me in the coffee shop.” It's not a question.

Root must sense that only the truth will help her here. So she gives it to Sam. “Yeah,” she says, her voice small, shoulders hunched. “I'd seen you before. I knew who you were.”

She lifts her gaze a little. Sam can't help but compare her to a puppy that's been kicked too much. And thinking about the people who had done the kicking brings forth a boiling, seething fire that tickles in the tips of her fingers that just itch to reach out and grab her face, kiss Root hard.

But it doesn't make sense, that anger and lust should come hand in hand like this. With this force. Accompanied by the need to know more about Root and make sure she eats and is warm because no way her body has the necessary energy to properly sustain itself, and what if someone were to attack her, she's a twig that could break if someone so much as shoves her while Sameen isn't there.

And she's too close to Sameen, looking at her too much, trailing ghost paths over Sam with her eyes, and -

“What are you doing over there?” Sam asks, pointing at Root's laptop, drinking the last of her water.

Root bites her lower lip in an effort to contain her smile. Sam wishes she wouldn't, because now she's thinking of biting that same spot. “Just boring work stuff. Go shower, Sameen. You smell.” She wrinkles her nose for effect.

Well, can't argue with that. Sam gets up, water bottle in hand. “I have a shift at the Machine tomorrow. You're coming.”

“Wouldn't miss it,” says Root, going back to her lilting voice. The way she keeps eyeing Sam up and down…

“I need to shower.”

She sure as Hell does.

 

Sameen takes the first shift that Saturday, which means there's not much she can do to stop Joss if her friend decides to get Root drunk again. But from the looks of it, Root is choosing not to engage her friends this time. Joss and Grace and John sit around her, chatting animatedly, sharing shots and laughs, but every time Sam looks down at the group, she finds Root staring up at her.

Root smiles when Sam looks down at her from her booth. Sam's mind is on her work, or at least it's trying to be as she frowns at the pale girl sitting at her table, biting her lip.

This is another thing Root doesn't lie about, doesn't hide from. Root’s never cloaked herself from Sameen; she can feel the brunt impact of her now. Even when she was a faceless creature, Sameen knew she was there.

The songs change. The club gets more packed. And the determination building up inside Sameen feels as charged as the stale air around her.

Sam needs to know. Her need to understand is as strong as a coursing river. It flows inside her veins, igniting her core, streams of lava moving her forwards. And she knows, she _knows_ , that Root will give her what she asks for.

When Frankie arrives to take over, Sameen can't leave the booth fast enough. The answers she was given yesterday aren't enough, and yeah, it's partially her own fault for not prodding Root more, but the proximity to her had clouded, invaded her senses and Sameen is still high on the residual effects.

As soon as she reaches her table, it's apparent that something’s missing. Coat in hand, she looks at Grace and says, “Where did Root go?”

“I don't know,” Grace says. “She got a text like half an hour ago and said she had to leave. She looked pretty serious.”

Nodding, Sameen puts on her big, puffy coat. The days keep getting colder. Thank God for thick jeans. She fishes her cell out of her pocket, throwing an “I'm going home” to her friends. She doesn't turn around when Joss calls her.

Her cell keeps ringing in her ear by the time she gets to the club's front door. Harper gives her a weird look, but Sameen doesn't pay her attention.

The outside air stings her cheeks, her nose. Root is still not picking up. And Sameen needs to resolve this now, while she's still riding this big wave of adrenaline.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait. I won't leave you hanging for too long this time.


	24. FOURTEEN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not a hacker. My computer knowledge revolves around HTML and CSS. So please excuse any mistakes I might have made.

 

Root’s cell rings for the fourth time, vibrating over the living room table. She knows who it is even without glancing at her screen. But she can't waste time, she needs to finish this and kick the boys out because she's _this_ close to zapping them with her stun gun for having come here at all.

They know the rules. And tonight they broke them.

Root came back to her building to find Jason and Daizo waiting outside in the cold. Daizo’s lips were so blue, she allowed them to come in with her and wait while she changed and grabbed her things. Instead, they'd opened up their laptops and gotten to work.

They needed Root to fix a few lines in her malware, they said. We'll be out of here in a minute, Jason promised.

But thirty minutes have already passed, and the hospital's security has gotten better and it's taking her more than a fucking minute to rewrite her code.

“You just had to come here,” Root spits out, furious. “You couldn't have waited for me to go over to Daizo’s.”

“They keep blocking us out, trying to pinpoint our IPs,” says a nervous Jason. “We needed-”

Root stops typing, her hands over the table and a glare that throws daggers at the boy in front of her. He swallows visibly, taking a step back. Daizo looks from him to Root and back.

“What you needed to do was stay the hell away from my home and _wait_ _for_ _me_. What the fuck were you thinking, bringing your infected computer here? You should have dismantled it at the first sign of trouble.”

The rerouting of the IP address connected to their network had taken her five minutes. She was faster than whoever this hospital had hired. But the computer had been compromised, who knows which files had been seen, taken?

After tearing Jason's laptop apart, she'd began working on her own, hacking into the hospital's mainframe. Daizo did his part, checking they were in the clear on his own computer.

And while she's still holding Jason captive with her glare, Root’s phone rings again. That particular ringtone she'd assigned her a long time ago trills and collides with her left ear. Closing her eyes, Root takes a deep breath. She'd never thought she'd hear that tone so many times in a row. It's almost as if Sameen knows she's in some kind of trouble.

Root can't have her come home to this. She swore that she would keep Sam out of this world, and that is what she's been doing, what she needs to do _now_. Rewrite the malware. Kick the boys out. Protect Sameen from the fucked up things that surround Root.

That proves to be impossible when the lock _clicks_ and the door swings open. Now that she thinks about it, she should have answered her phone, should have told Sameen that she had someone over and to give her some time to have the bedroom for herself or something.

But that would have been a lie, and that's another promise she'd made to herself: always tell Sameen the truth, as long as it doesn't put her in danger.

Root doesn't even lift her eyes up from her screen. Just a few more files and she'll be done. They'll be out of the hospital's server and their job will be complete. No one will be able to trace this back to them.

Sameen’s presence, though, is becoming painfully hard to ignore.

“Root? What the hell is going on? Why didn't you answer your phone?” Sam says, annoyed.

The front door closes after her. Root sees her taking her coat off on her peripheral vision, and she begs her machine to work faster.

The remains of Jason's laptop rest at the centre of the table. Sameen eyes them warily. “Root?” she repeats.

Before Sameen can advance further into the room, Jason jumps in front of her. “Oh, hi. I don't think we met before. I'm Jason,” he says, extending his hand towards her.

Sam frowns and regards it as someone would look down at a bug they're about to step on. Jason lets his hand drop to the side, balling it up in a fist.

_Just a little more…_

“What is this? What's going on?”

“We're doing a project for university,” Daizo offers, his voice heavily accented and nervous as hell.

Root can't help it. Her lips curve upwards in a small smile. The boys actually find Sameen scarier than Root. Now _that_ is something she never thought she'd enjoy; but feeling Sam's raw power pressing down on them is turning on more than one red light, sounding more than ten alarms inside of her.

Sameen’s force is calling out to her primal side and dammit, she can't act on it, not with the boys here and not while she's still trying to erase their footprints from the hospital's server.

“All clear,” Daizo informs her.

Root still needs to rewrite a few digits and someone has to stop Sameen from coming any closer. Not that it matters now. She's already inside the lion's den. And it's all Root’s fault.

“Root. Who are these dudes?”

Daizo looks at Root as if she holds all the answers, before going back to his own work. She wishes he wouldn't do that. People shouldn't depend on her, shouldn't look at her flaws and find them intriguing. She's just a person. A collection of star stuff, carbon. There's nothing elegant about her. Her code is flawed.

If only she could sue the company that manufactured her.

Root’s world is one of smoke and mirrors. Of masks that are necessary for survival. A place where a million thoughts crash into each other and leave her with a migraine to last for days.

Her world is made of dark memories and regret and spirits that ask her _why_.

And Sameen is…

Right behind her.

“Get your hand off me,” Sameen warns.

Jason is smart enough to do as he's told. He backs away, towards Daizo, who is already shutting down his laptop, putting it in his backpack.

“Sameen, give me a second,” Root pleads as she brings up the final file that needs recoding.

Root feels her, on her left side: Sam's warmth, the smell of the club still clinging to her, mixed with the crispness of the night's air. A step, two steps bring Sameen closer still, her curiosity beating her natural desire to separate herself from others.

The file for a “Kate Stone” takes up most of Root’s screen. There's no way she can hide this from Sam now.

“What the-”

Sameen looks from Root’s laptop to the pieces of Jason's torn computer - prompting him to hastily gather them up-, to Daizo clutching his backpack against his chest, and back down to Root, sitting at the table, working on the final details of this job.

“You're-” says Sameen, realisation dawning on her. “You're hacking someone?” She looks over Root’s shoulder again, her warm breath tickling her good ear. “A _hospital_?” she screams.

There's no mistaking that those are medical files, not with the hospital's logo all over them. Add to that the fact that Sameen is a physical therapy student and one of the smartest people Root’s had the pleasure of knowing, and of course the result is what is unfolding now.

Sameen can't stay still. The length of the apartment becomes too small for her to pace enough times to calm down.

Root lifts her gaze, fixes it on Jason. “Done. Go home. Check the rootkit, find the leaks and-”

“Delete them. Yeah,” he says.

Root doesn't need to say more. The boys get it. _Don't come here ever again._ They leave without saying another word. Root leaves her laptop on, running a scan on the background. Her head suddenly weighs a ton, the beginning of a migraine setting in.

Resting her elbows on the table, she grabs her head with her hands. Takes a deep breath.

“So this is what you do when you're not here? You're hacking?”

Her voice. In the months living with her, Root’s had time to pick up the little nuances in it. Sameen sounds disappointed. Not mad, not furious. Not yet, anyway.

“Root. What were you doing hacking a hospital? Don't lie to me,” she says, emphasizing each word.

“Sameen…” Root says, head between her hands.

“No. I wanna know. Is that all the hacking you do? Or are you into dangerous hacktivism bullshit too?”

“Hacktivism?” Root huffs. Her migraine doesn't go anywhere, but she still finds the energy to lift her gaze, to look her right in the eye. Into those dark and beautifully passionate eyes that most people would take for granted. “You've been watching one too many bad Hollywo-”

Sameen slams her hands over the table, piercing Root with her glare. “Cut the crap. You've been living here for three months. You owe me this. Are me and the girls gonna get caught up in your shit?”

Of course Sameen would choose to wear something black to the club. Almost all her wardrobe is some shade or other of the same colour. The three-quarter sleeve t-shirt she's wearing hugs her just right, accentuating the arms Root longs to touch. The t-shirt’s V-shaped neck has been driving Root crazy since she saw her wearing it at the club. Sameen’s hair cascades down her shoulders, her back, long enough to brush the underside of her ribs.

Leaning forwards on the table, tension coiling her body, Sameen looks just…

Root doesn't have a word for it. She knows her jaw is hanging open and she doesn't give a fuck. The outside air mussed Sameen’s hair and it's taking all of Root’s willpower not to tangle her fingers in it and pull at it, hard.

“Root! For fuck’s sake.”

The freezing air made Sam's cheeks blush red. Or is that her anger blooming on her skin, making it hard for Root to focus on anything besides that?

Root has to swallow before answering. “It's not like we're doing bad things, Sam.” She shrugs. “People pay us to make some things go away, and we get rid of them. Data. Debts. Information they don't want to see in the wrong hands. We're doing a serv-”

Sameen laughs. She actually laughs, a short, small sound, straightening her spine, shaking her head. “A service?” She looks at Root again. “How is manipulating medical files doing someone a service?”

Still sitting at the table, Root watches Sameen walk to the other side of the living room. “Sameen, you asked me what I do and I answered you. What more do you want?”

Sam folds her arms over her chest. The cogs and gears in her mind are working a million miles an hour. Her eyebrows knit together as an idea sparks a flame in her brain. She looks up at Root, and without her having to say anything, Root knows what's coming.

The adrenaline in her blood makes Root jump up and towards Sameen, her mind already working on ideas on how to contain this breach.

“Oh my God,” says Sameen, her voice barely above a whisper. Root has trouble hearing her, so she focuses on her lips. “You hacked us before moving in here. Didn't you?”

She _needs_ to reverse this, it's all crumbling down fast, faster than she would have hoped for, and she knew it was all too good to last, but for once she'd hoped she'd be wrong.

For once in her life, Root wanted to stay. To stop running away. Find somewhere to call home. She shouldn't have fooled herself this much.

Root takes a step towards Sameen, noticing the way she keeps balling up her hands, working her jaw. She lets her eyes roam over her, taking in the disheveled state of her. Her breathing hitches.

Sameen’s does too.

“Sameen. I swear to you, I didn't hack you. But…”

“But what,” Sam says, serious. She keeps walking backwards. Root tries hard to make her understand, make her look into her eyes and see the truth. But that damn pout is distracting as hell.

“All I did was read part of your student file. That's it.”

“What did you read in it?”

“Full name. Parents’ names. Date and place of birth. Father: deceased. ‘Student refrains from participating in social events.’ ‘Exhibits a Schizoid Personality Disorder’. That's when I stopped reading.”

Sameen stays silent. Tilts her head to the side. “So you did know. I thought so.”

Root’s gaze falls down to Sam's hands, sees them a bit more loose, more relaxed. At least now her tendons and veins don't look like they're about to burst.

“Root,” she repeats in a whisper, so soft, that Root has no other choice but to step closer to her. “What are you doing hacking into hospitals? Because I don't think you do it for the money.”

Root grins. “Sam. You know me so well.

“You're right. It's not about the money. At first it was. But not anymore.”

“Then why. Why do something that could land you in prison?”

That makes Root laugh. “I'm not gonna get thrown into prison, Sam.” She looks over her shoulder, still smiling. The idea of anyone ever catching her is just ludicrous.

“That's what people who get caught say, Root,” says Sameen, the intensity in her voice rising. “And for what? A bit of a rush?”

“I help people, Sameen. It's not just a game to me-”

“Well, good. Because it shouldn't be. You brought this into our home.”

“Actually, the boys did.”

“Root! Fuck!”

If it's even physically possible, the force behind Sameen’s shout makes Root stumble backwards. Her feet almost make her lose her balance. Root blinks for what feels like an hour, her hard breathing now attributed to a different cause.

Her heart speeds up inside her ribcage. She has to close her eyes, clear her head because her migraine is still there and Sameen's stare is only making it worse.

Eyes closed, Root says, “Kate Stone had her third child two months ago. Premature. A little boy. Had to be kept in the ICU for a month. They did a C-section on her. She and her husband are swimming in debt. I charged them a small fee to make their forty-five thousand dollar debt to the hospital disappear.”

When Root opens her eyes, Sameen is shaking her head. “People live in debt, Root.”

_Stop saying my name like that. Stop it._

_Stop._

“Hell, I have a massive student loan debt of my own.”

_Yes, you do. But only because the boys and I haven't figured out how to destroy the bank's hard copies of the registry yet._

“You can't fix other people's problems. Not when doing that represents a risk to you.”

But she has to. She needs to.

“I made a promise,” slips through Root’s lips. The words are out before she can catch them and hold them to her bleeding chest.

“Then whoever made you make that promise is the stupidest person I've ever heard of.”

“Don't. Sh- no one forced me. I made that promise on my own.”

Sameen takes a step forwards, the fire behind her eyes freezing Root into place. “Then you're dumber than I thought you were,” she says.

Laughter erupts from Root’s throat. Her limbs shake, disarticulated. Leave it to Sameen to put her in her place, to tell her what Root already knows but hides under a hundred layers of cement.

“Are you seriously laughing right now? Root, what happens when the police or the FBI find you? Are you gonna be laughing then?”

Her smile won't leave. “I told you, no one is gonna catch me, Sam.”

“But what if they do.”

“Sam…”

“Root.”

“Wh-”

Root stops. Frowns. Watches Sameen doing a poor job of trying to control her breathing. That pout of hers, she'd love to steal for herself. Run the tips of her fingers over those angular lines of her face. Taste the salt on her skin just once.

Once, to tide her over whatever comes next.

“Forgive me for not getting why someone would be willing to throw their life away just because they made a fucking promise to someone who knows how long ago. You're gonna ruin your life. And for what?”

Root shakes her head. She can't keep looking at Sameen anymore. “Sam. It's complicated.”

 _My life is already ruined,_ she doesn't say.

“No, it really isn't that hard. You just stop what you're doing and get a clean slate-”

“People like me don't get a clean slate.”

“Says who? Huh. Tell me.”

“ _Sameen_.”

“No, Root. Tell me. What is stopping you from leaving this bullshit ‘job’ and starting over.”

_What stops me? The ghost of the girl I once loved? Perhaps at the beginning, but I'm not so sure anymore._

There's no one like Root. She's made sure she's the best at what she does. She's debugged herself, patched up what needed to be patched up, updated her software many times. She thought her firewall was made to withstand whatever came her way.

But she hadn't been expecting Sameen to slowly mine her entire defense system.

She looks so _beautiful_.

“Dammit, Root. Wha-”

And she kisses her, swallowing the rest of her protest, covering her lips with hers. Her fingers finally, _finally_ , find purchase in Sameen’s long hair, entwining with it.

Root’s shocked her into stillness, but if this is going to be her one chance at doing this, she might as well do it right.

Hesitantly, Root moves her lips, caressing Sam's as gently as her desire allows her. Her nose brushes against Sameen’s. Her core is threatening to overheat, to cause a system malfunction.

And just when she's about to pull away, satisfied with her one stolen moment, short enough to not be too much for Sam, Sameen does the unthinkable. Her lips part, granting Root access, and Root feels that if this is it, what a good way to go.

Root deepens the kiss, her tongue darting out, tasting that bottom lip that's been driving her insane. Suddenly meeting Sam's tongue.

It's more than she hoped for, more than she dreamt of, and she can't push back the moan that escapes her.

The sound jolts Sameen into action, her hands coming to rest on her hips, her fingers pressing down on her flesh, making Root release her mouth and take a deep breath in. A breath full of Sameen.

Sameen’s hands lay on her waist, her lower back, pressing her closer, her lips pulled apart. Their heartbeats rattle as one, fast. Nothing but black can be seen in Sam's eyes. Root is sure hers are the same, and how can they not be, when Sameen’s breasts are pushing up against hers, the subject of many of her fantasies?

Root doesn't weight much, she knows. But it still surprises her when Sam picks her up, turns them around and shoves her against the wall. Her back hits the wall and sends a delicious ripple of pain through her body, arching her back, revealing her neck to Sameen.

Sameen wastes no time kissing the skin exposed for her. She bites it, eliciting a new gasp from Root. Her body feels like jelly. The only things keeping her together are Sam's firm, exploring hands.

“ _Sameen_.”

The rock Root’s been relying on for support. The one who doesn't let her passions control her. The woman Root would do anything for.

Sameen, whose hands have found skin beneath Root’s shirt. Whose biting is soothed by her warm tongue on Root’s neck. Who is not ashamed to let Root hear the sounds she makes. Who is, despite her disadvantage in height, pressing her knee right where Root needs it.

“Sam.”

Who needs to stop, because Root sure as hell can't on her own. But Sameen is in a world of her own, not listening to directives.

_Stop this before it's too late, before she's tainted forever._

A voice at the front of her brain shouts reasons why this is not wrong, a debate in her skull.

She wants this.

But that doesn't make this right.

Root’s hands grab Sameen’s hair, but she misunderstands. Instead of letting go, the pulling makes her moan. She kisses Root again. Sloppily, hurriedly.

Root indulges one last time, before biting on Sam’s lower lip hard enough to draw blood.

Breathing hard, Sameen moves her head back, licking her lip. She doesn't look the least bit angry. Just the opposite.

Root takes this opening to untangle herself from her, leaving Sameen looking at her, frowning. Her legs can barely keep her standing, but Root manages.

“I- I'm sorry,” she says.

Suddenly, without her noticing how the individual actions ended in this, Root finds herself wearing her jacket, keys in one hand, backpack strap in the other.

“I didn't mean-” She walks to the door. “I'll be back later.”

Later, when the beating of her heart has settled. When owning Sameen’s body isn't at the top of her list. When she can convince herself that she's doing the right thing.

Sameen is still sucking on her lip when Root closes the door. Her chest is still heaving.

Later, she promises to the wood that she rests her head against.

_I won't disappear this time. I'll be back._

Later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SONG FOR THIS CHAPTER
> 
> Demi Lovato - Confident (Root) - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cwLRQn61oUY


	25. FIFTEEN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back, guys. I had a bad case of writer's block, but it seems to be gone now. Thanks for sticking around :)

 

 

So that is what that feels like. Like a marching band echoing through the empty spaces inside her chest. Or a sailor pulling at the rope lassoed around her balance centre, hard enough to tilt her off her axis. Sameen wonders which categories these sensations fall into.

The bed next to hers remained unoccupied throughout the night. She knows this to be true because her mind wouldn't settle down, wouldn't let her fall asleep. If her mother were here, she'd sit down next to her, and together they'd go over what was circling inside Sameen’s head. To try and make sense of it all.

But her mother is miles away, and even if she were standing right next to her daughter, Sameen would still have trouble following the path her thoughts have seemed to take.

At some point in the morning, when too many voices were speaking in her head at once and Sameen had no clue as to what they were trying to tell her, she put on her running shoes and stopped waiting.

 _Waiting._ That's interesting. She doesn't even know what she was waiting for.

Then, when running was not enough, Sam headed for the gym, hoping that throwing some punches around would give her the mental stability she needed.

But of course it didn't. It only made her angrier, because now she can feel a bruise blooming on her left cheek and her stomach's been empty since the night before.

She had Root pegged as an intelligent person, someone who minded their own business, who transformed you into someone else with her camera. A girl with a sharp and witty mind. Sameen never would have thought that that mind was being used for hacking.

Such a strong word, that.

Touching the sore spot on her cheek, Root’s words come back to her. _We're not doing bad things. We help people._

_I'm not gonna get thrown into prison, Sam._

Prison. Where bad people are huddled together. Where it doesn't matter what you're in for, because you still ended up in the same place as the rest of them. Where Root’s spirit would crumble in a week.

Sameen knows Root’s a tough girl, she's seen the evidence of that. But she also sees that light in her eyes turning on and off and on again, and she knows that being imprisoned would be the breeze that finally pushed Root off the ledge.

It scares Sameen, the idea that she can't be there to catch her when she falls.

Because Root is impulsive, electric, and she would jump, no questions asked, no measuring of the consequences.

And then how would Sam be able to continue charting her physical reactions to her, if Root’s not there? What other way would Sam have of keeping track of the physiological changes that occur to her body when Root is near, if she can't have her close?

If she can't touch her like she did last night. If she were deprived of Root’s skin, and the sounds she regaled her with were to vanish from her mind.

_Sameen._

See? There. Heart rate, increased. Blood oxygenation, optimal. Concentration, blurred. Breathing, rapid. Ability to focus on her surroundings, minimal.

All she knows is that she's standing outside her apartment, keys in hand. How she got into the building escapes her.

Never mind that.

Two things catch her eye when she opens the door. Root’s leather jacket and that backpack she carries everywhere with her.

Sam's feet take her to her bedroom before she even has the chance to give them the order.

* * *

Someone is watching her.

Or is she dreaming still?

No, Root’s pretty sure she's awake now. She didn't get much sleep, just a few hours, but that's better than no sleep at all.

What time was it when she got home? Eight? And Sameen wasn't here, just like she'd planned. Root had just wanted to sleep a little, before she had to face her mistakes.

She'd made a few of those last night.

Yawning, she stretches her right arm up into the air, and opens her eyes.

Sameen is sitting on the desk chair. Right beside her bed.

“Am I sick and I don't know it?” Root says as way of greeting. She blinks, smacks her lips. Her vision clears and she focuses on Sam's scowl. “What's the prognosis, doctor?”

She's putting too much lilt in her voice, hoping she can still play her Get Out of Jail for Free card, wishing Sam won't hear the secrets hidden behind her words. But Sam's expression has been carved in stone. Root can't read her.

“Get up. We're going for a walk.”

“A walk? Seriously?” Root sits up, frowns at Sameen.

“You're gonna explain to me what it is that you do. Without the bullshit,” Sam says.

It makes Root smile, her commanding tone. That means that she's in the clear for now. Her shame is still her own.

Sameen pouts, shakes her head. “So come on. I'll wait for you in the living room.”

 

They end up going to the coffee shop where Grace works. All Sameen did as they rode the subway here was glare at Root in silence, sucking on her cut lower lip.

Making Root relive the events of the previous night. Her guts churn just thinking about the events that followed her leaving the apartment.

She can’t think about that now.

It isn't until they are inside the coffee shop, sitting on the corner booth, the wind picking up right on the other side of the window, that Sameen clears her throat and cuts right into Root’s skin.

“So. Is Hanna the person you made that promise to? She's gotta be really important for you to gamble your future like that.”

Sameen raises her hand, looking over her shoulder and attracting Grace's attention. Root sees Grace grab a carton menu from the counter and start walking towards them, but Sam's words have made a statue out of her.

Her thoughts tumble inside her head, forcing her to shut her eyes and breathe for a second. She leans over the table, whispers, “What did you say? Where did you hear that name?”

“Where do you think? From you. You've said it a couple of times now. Actually called me Hanna when you were drunk off your rocker.

“So? Who is she?”

Root is never, ever, hand-over-her-heart ever, drinking so much again.

At least, not around Sameen.

“Hi, girls,” Grace says in that squeaky voice of hers. Root immediately straightens her spine, but can do nothing to quieten the resounding boom of her heartbeats. “Came here to get lunch?”

It's clear that Sameen knows, senses Root’s distress. Leaning back on her chair, her arms crossed, she tells Grace, “Yeah, you know what I like. Make that two. We don't need the menu.”

Root sees it, the looks that Grace and Sameen share. But she's at a loss on how to read them. She can't say anything.

“Okay, then. I'll be back soon.”

Grace walks away without seeing that Root is still glitching, frozen. Hanna is the creature that dwells in dark, black spaces, that comes out and points at Root to list all of her mistakes, over and over.

She is the constant reminder of everything that can go wrong. That did go wrong. Hanna is Sameen’s shield, even without Sam knowing anything about her. The memory of Hanna is what is keeping Sameen safe, and Root is not ready for that to change just yet.

“Root?”

She blinks, refocuses her gaze on Sameen. Her mouth feels dry and she realises that it's because it was slightly open. She has to swallow to clear her throat.

“Hanna was my friend,” says Root. It takes a lot out of her to keep her eyes on Sameen’s, but she still does it. Sameen’s pout deepens. “She died. She's the one thing I won't talk about. Ask me anything else, but leave Hanna out of it.”

Sameen nods. “Fair enough. Then me about your job,” she says.

Root huffs, mimicking Sameen and crossing her arms over her chest. “What else can I say? You've already made it quite clear that you don't approve of what I do. And I know that no matter what I say, you've already made up you mind about it.”

“Oh, you _know_? Just because you read the Wikipedia article on my personality disorder doesn't make you an expert on it, or on what happens inside my brain. So don't pretend you know things you couldn't possibly know.”

Yeah, she's totally right, because all those articles claimed schizoid people couldn't be as fiery or caring as Sameen, and damn, look at her now. Arms crossed, legs too, eyebrows raised with a look of challenge in her eyes.

Root needs to stop staring.

She bites her lip, shakes her head. The smile that twists her mouth is as real as all the others Sameen has been able to wring out of her. The ghost of Hanna is slowly backing away for the moment. “Okay, Sam. What do you wanna know?”

“I dunno,” Sameen says. She shrugs, sighing, her eyes flitting around the room until they settle on Root again. “How did you start? _Why_ did you start?”

That's an easy enough question. Root laughs. “Why? Because I was bored out my mind.”

“That's not a good enough reason. I don't go around hacking computers when I'm bored as fuck.”

“Ah, but the difference between the two of us, sweetie, is that I can and you can't. Besides, I said I _started_ when I was bored. Computers were challenging, fun, easy to dismantle and put back together. They do what they're told. Now, people? People are all kinds of messed up.”

“And yet you still help them.”

“But I charge them for my work.”

“I thought you said you didn't do it for the money,” says Sameen, squinting her eyes.

“Yeah, I know what I said. It's… it's complicated.”

Without giving Root a second to collect her thoughts, Sameen presses on. “How.”

“Sa- I. I don't know.” Root throws her hands in the air, shaking her head. “I guess I decide if people are worthy of my hel-”

“You guess or you know? Come on, Root. I thought we'd said no bullshit.”

“Okay.” _Okay_. If she wants to hear the entire thing, the explicit version, uncensored, then that's what she's gonna get. Even if it brings an irrational fear into Root’s being. She has never needed anyone's approval. Not even Hanna’s.

But Sameen has infected her beyond repair, her soldiers already out of the Trojan horse wreaking havoc inside of her.

“Fine,” she says, her spine as straight as a pole. “When someone asks for my services, me and the boys collect as much data on them as we can. We select those who really need us, and discard those who don't. Especially those who keep convincing me that humanity is a lost cause.

“There have been cases where I was in need of cash, before I met the boys, where I made some… questionable choices. But I draw my line at killing people.”

Sameen raises her eyebrows. “Well, that's good to know,” she says. But it's the way she says it, so nonchalant and leaning back in her chair like that, that makes Root’s heart go haywire.

She laughs again, her tongue peeking out while she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, and lifts her head just in time to see it: Sam's eyes roaming over her face, her eyes glowing, and a smile, bigger than those she'd seen on her before, illuminating her features.

 _Now_ Root’s heart is seriously malfunctioning. She has to bite on her lip harder because there is Grace coming at them with their food and drinks.

“Here you go,” Grace says as she leaves everything on the table. “Enjoy!”

For all the days, months, that Root has been watching Sameen, she's learned that the girl has a special relationship with food. She will give it her undivided attention.

So, why is she still looking at Root as if she were the tastier option? Maybe Root’s mind is showing her what she wants to see. Yeah. That's gotta be it.

“Wanna know how I got my bike?” asks Root. She stabs a piece of chicken with her fork and brings it to her mouth while she waits for Sameen to digest the words she just uttered.

“Wait. You've got a _bike_? How come we never heard about it?”

“You never asked.” Root shrugs.

Sam laughs softly, digging into her own lunch. “Yeah, well. I never saw you bringing a helmet home.”

“Why would I? I leave it with the bike.

“So, there was this Colombian gang leader…”

“Of course.”

Two words that make Root smile. This is turning out to be easier than she'd expected. “Raúl,” she continued. “Raúl’s daughter, Sabrina, she was dating this kid from another gang, rival. These kids were sixteen. Sabrina was just a rebellious brat, but her boyfriend, now he was bad news.”

“And?” asked Sameen. Root could see she was hooked.

“And Raúl asked me to _help_ Sabrina see reason. He couldn't get his daughter to stop dating him, couldn't go after him because it would start a turf war. So he called me. I did some digging.

“Sabrina may have been faithful, but that other punk certainly wasn't. His phone? Filled with photos of his other conquests.”

“But photos can be manipulated.”

 _God, so smart._ “True. But I doubt a sixteen year old like that kid knew how to manipulate cellphone video. Sabrina dumped him, got her friends to help her slash his tires and Raúl kept his word. He gave me Tor, when he'd only had her for three months.”

“He'd named it Thor?”

Root giggles. “No, Tor. And _I_ named her. It's a computer thing. Maybe I'll take you for a spin one of these days.”

“Sure, Root. Maybe one of these days.”

* * *

Hearing about Root’s lonely childhood sparks something in Sameen. Once Root saw that Sameen wasn't interested in passing judgment, there was no stopping her. Sameen doesn't mind. She's not much for words anyway.

But she can relate to not understanding the motions of the world around her, of wanting, needing no one. Of feeling detached from the world. So she tells her exactly that, because with Root it feels different. It feels safe, somehow.

The irony of feeling safe around Root is not lost on her. Sameen had seen danger light a fire in Root’s eyes the moment she met her here, in this very café. And now that she knows exactly how hot that flame burns, she can't say that she's afraid of the fire.

 

They leave the coffee shop after a while, the cold crisp air making Root’s cheeks turn bright red. Strands of dark hair float over Sam's eyes, but she keeps her hands in her pockets, because she's not sure what she would do if they were free of their prison.

Actually, no. She knows exactly what would happen. It's all she's been able to think about from the second Root’s lips touched hers the night before. She wonders what might have happened if Root hadn't put a stop to it. If she'd been allowed to keep measuring her reactions to Root’s touch, to the taste of her skin and the sound of her moans.

It angers her to have been denied access, to have been baited for so long with revealing shorts and blue dresses and lingering looks, only to have it all come to a sudden halt.

Their subway stop is right across the street now. The smile on Root’s face has followed her here from the coffee shop. Sameen can feel her looking when she's staring straight ahead, like an actual touch, a brush of fingertips.

It's soft, non-existent, but real, and it makes Sameen take a deep breath and stop in her tracks.

“I don't do relationships,” she says, looking down at her feet. Shrugging, she looks at Root. “I'm just not wired that way. The only people I care about are my mum, Joss and Grace.”

Root observes her. Smile still in place, she bites her bottom lip as she looks Sameen up and down. “I know, sweetie,” she says. Sameen swears there's something off about her, in the way she's shifting her weight from one foot to the other. She won't look into her eyes, strictly keeping her gaze on her lips.

“You say that now,” Sam says, “but I know for a fact people don't get it. And the only time I got involved with a girl, it wasn't… it ended…” Sam pauses, looks up to the sky. “It was bad. Came back to bite me out of nowhere.”

Root takes a step forward, her eyes roaming over Sam's face. Her smile is still there, but at the same time, it's not. There's a question written on her features, a frown and a bite of the lips. Not two paces separate them, allowing Sameen to read Root’s struggle without a problem.

“Sameen, I'm sorry. But I'm not that girl. And I'm not asking you to marry me.” Root lifts her eyebrows, leaning in as if to tell her a secret. “Why make too big of a deal out of this?” she whispers in Sam's ear.

And it's that voice, that sound, that light brush of lips on skin, and that heady scent so close to her, that lights a fire through Sameen’s ear canal, igniting her desire and throwing caution out the window.

Root said she gets it, but Sameen knows she doesn't. Not really. How could she even begin to comprehend the acceleration of her heartbeats when Sameen doesn't get it herself? When it's all she can do to try and replay the events of the previous night by pushing Root against the alleyway’s wall?

And that little gasp of surprise Root releases, how it fuels her. Sameen makes a mental note as she grabs Root’s waist and threads the fingers of her free hand through her soft hair, pulling her close enough to kiss: she loves these soundbites. She wants more. Never before did she feel such a need, and it makes her dizzy, the blunt force behind it.

Root’s open lips are tantalisingly close as she bends down to meet Sameen’s. Being inches apart suddenly feels like it's not enough. Everything is heightened, emotion and sensation alike. Sam moves her fingers, massaging Root’s skull, reveling in the way her lips part even more as she does this.

Root grips Sameen’s wrist where her hand is buried in her hair, her other hand grabbing Sam's coat, pulling her towards her. Eyes closed, Root frowns, holds on to Sam seeking balance. And it's strangely powerful to see Root disarmed like this. Swaying on the balls of her feet like a drunk, trusting that Sam will hold her.

But unlike yesterday, she doesn't move, doesn't take that last step. She bites her lips instead, digging her fingers into Sameen’s wrist. Any other time, Sameen would have already taken what's being dangled right in front of her. But not today.

Her thumb over Root’s pulse point is pressing down hard enough that it's a wonder Root isn't commenting on it. She feels her own adrenaline rush mirrored on the girl between her fingers and can't help but wonder how their experiences of this moment are diverging.

Because it's clear how they connect.

If Sameen had to explain her own experience to an outsider (or even, to herself), she'd call this a high. The best kind of high. The one that makes you crave more. The kind that burrows under your skin and crawls around inside your veins making you feel as light as air.

The need is strong and the drug is right there. So she takes it.

Her eyes remain open to take in the sight before her. She reaches up as her hand pulls Root’s face closer. And still Root won't open her eyes. She's a breath away from her lips, and still Root doesn't close the distance.

But the world fades to black when Sameen brushes her lips against Root’s and she hears her whimper. The restraints are broken.

Do drug addicts feel that one moment of clarity, too?, Sameen wonders. That moment when you know you're fucked, you're fucking everything up, and you know you should stop, but God, it feels so good, and you want more.

And it makes you stop and think, because now you will always need more, and what if your supply runs out?

But then Root’s tongue slides over Sam's and her grip tightens over her wrist in a way that Sam never would have imagined she'd like. So she empties her mind, focuses on the here and now. She'll have time to analyse this later.

* * *

Root is becoming painfully aware of the hold Sameen has over her. She's right back where she started last night, in Sam's arms. Except, now she's giving the power over to her, letting her choose if she wants to continue with this or not.

Would she still want her if she knew where Root ran off to after leaving her on the living room, breathless after their kiss? Maybe she wouldn't mind it, but Root knows that Sam's anger comes quick. She'd hate to be on the receiving end of that firecracker.

For all of Root’s fearlessness, she's terrified of losing this connection.

In the early hours of the morning, she made her final decision. She’d let Sameen decide how this would evolve. She’d take whatever she gave her and cherish those moments. They will become the structure that holds her upright when it all comes crashing down, and she knows that’ll happen.

It’s just a matter of time.

She’s not asking much of Sameen. She’s not asking anything of her, really. Just knowing that she’s there is enough. Seems like enough.

She hopes it’s enough.

Every fingertip pressing down on her skull, Sam’s thumb on her neck, her hand suddenly pulling her closer, thrills and scares Root equally. Sameen is holding all the cards. It’s her move.

It’s no surprise that she decides to gamble it all.

It kills Root to find herself so vulnerable in front of Sameen, a collapsing tower of cards the second Sam’s lips touch hers. But on the other hand, she feels empowered when a soft sound from her makes Sam unravel like this. When she feels her back hit the brick wall because the force driving Sameen is so strong they need help from something that will support them both.

Sameen’s mouth is as soft and fierce as she remembers from just hours before. The hand on her waist grips her tighter, even through her thick jacket. Her tongue traces paths in her mouth, ripping little sighs from Root’s throat without her permission. And it’s in this moment when Root realises that she can take whatever Sam decides to give her, but that it doesn’t mean that she has to take it quietly.

Sameen’s eyes grow surprised when Root turns them around, pressing her against the wall instead. Her body becomes entrapped by Root’s, but Root doesn’t see her complaining. On the contrary, Sameen cranes her neck, looking up into Root’s eyes, her own black with desire. And again comes that feeling of empowerment, seeing what she’s doing to Sameen. Root’s body hovers over Sam’s, never pushing her boundaries too much. Just knowing that Sam isn’t in a hurry to turn them back around, that she’s allowing this to happen, is setting a fire down in her core.

Root’s lips curve up in a grin before she realises it, and Sameen responds with a mischievous smile of her own.

“Come on, Sam,” Root says, trying to control her breathing. She straightens up, separating herself from Sameen as much as her want lets her.

Leaning on the wall, Sameen looks at her, puzzlement written all over her face and her smile still in place. “Really?”

“It’s getting cold, sweetie.”

Sameen looks her up and down, biting on her injured lip, the cut Root gave her. The back of her head hits the wall as she leers at Root for the first time since she met her. “Speak for yourself,” she says. “I’m feeling pretty cozy right here.”

To say that Root is rattled would be a severe understatement and Sameen clearly knows it. She’s smiling, the little devil, pouting at her. She knows she’s got Root under her spell and she’s using that knowledge with no regards for the consequences.

Root’s not gonna lie. It’s _exciting_.

But they’re out on the street, for fuck’s sake. This can’t happen here, with all these people walking past them. Is that why Sameen is acting this way? To taunt her, play with her? Oh hell, who cares. If Sameen wants to win, Root will one hundred percent let her.

She’s that far gone.

Maybe it’s a lame attempt to gain back her power, maybe she’s doing it for other hidden reasons, but next thing she knows, Root is kissing Sam’s forehead, feeling Sam’s frown disappear under her lips. She lingers there a moment too long, knowing that it might make Sam uncomfortable, but putting her want first for a minute before she gives Sam back the reins of… whatever this game is.

Hands on Sam’s forearms, she takes a step back, looking down at her. “Then you can stay where you are. I, for one, want to go back home and maybe take a nap. Or watch something on Netflix.” She releases Sameen, starts to walk away. But she doesn’t miss the little shake of the head Sam does, or how her smile grows for the second time today. It’s contagious, like wildfire spreading in a jungle.

She hears Sam huff behind her as she walks towards her. “Wait up, nerd,” she says.

“Was that supposed to be an insult? Because if it was, you need to work on them more. I happen to embrace the nerd label.”

Another shake of the head. “Whatever.”

Yeah. Whatever. Whatever this turns out to be, Root is starting to think that maybe it was all worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I'm not doing my maths wrong, we're 2/3 of the story in. Exciting!
> 
> Cover image: http://s715.photobucket.com/user/isuchocki/library/


End file.
